


even a wolf knows how to be polite

by uneventfulhouses



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series), Watcher Entertainment
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, Steven & Devon & TJ have small speaking roles, Werewolves, bed sharing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:08:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23086012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uneventfulhouses/pseuds/uneventfulhouses
Summary: “You busy this weekend?” Ryan turns to look at Shane, who doesn't seem to be very busy at all.Without looking up from his phone, Shane shakes his head.“Wanna go for a drive?”“Where are we going?” Shane asks, looking up then, bright brown irises behind those clear framed glasses. His hair is pushed back but there’s that one lock of hair that falls delicately over Shane’s forehead. Shane pushes up the sleeves of his blue-tinged button up; Ryan watches the effortless sweeping motion before looking up to meet Shane’s eyes.“Up north,” Ryan says, biting down on his lip, feeling sheepish. “You like werewolves, right?”Shane gives him a look, pure disdain in his eyes. Ryan can’t help but grin.
Relationships: Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej
Comments: 56
Kudos: 312





	even a wolf knows how to be polite

**Author's Note:**

  * For [courante](https://archiveofourown.org/users/courante/gifts).



> hi everyone. WOO. what a week. so, this is a a valentine's gift to @courante or [altadanza](https://altadanza.tumblr.com/). i saw "non-mundane AUs in general tbh?" and said, so i guess we're writing about werewolves. I really hope you enjoy it, and I'm sorry it's so, so late. 
> 
> thanks to bee for the beta. 
> 
> title is from a quote i thought was pretty neat: 
> 
> “Even a wolf knows how to be polite when animalistic humans have no clue about politeness.”  
> ― Munia Khan

The Watcher office has come into its own. It already feels like a special brand of home, considering how much time Ryan spends at his desk. He’s been working steadily on an Unsolved script for the last hour, and honestly, he’s kind of missed it. They’re set to film in a couple of weeks, but there’s an insistent itch to just go _now_. 

There’s been some research he’s been doing. And sure, it’s down a more _Underwater Area 51, Bermuda Triangle victims in Atlantis, Roanoke Colony experienced a zombie plague_ line of thinking, but there've been some _very suspicious_ animal attacks in Northern California that just scream something a little more supernatural. 

Okay, so, maybe, he’s thinking about werewolves, but there’s justification for that line of thinking. At the very least, it’ll be fun, just Shane and him traipsing through the woods. Much like their search for Mothman or Bigfoot, both of which had been scary—but it’s difficult to be scared with Shane around, making terrible screeching noises or that awful Bigfoot mating call that makes him sound like an ape. 

It’s not totally serious, but if they find something, wouldn’t that be kind of cool? 

“You busy this weekend?” Ryan turns to look at Shane, who doesn't seem to be very busy at all. 

Without looking up from his phone, Shane shakes his head. 

“Wanna go for a drive?”

“Where are we going?” Shane asks, looking up then, bright brown irises behind those clear framed glasses. His hair is pushed back but there’s that _one_ lock of hair that falls delicately over Shane’s forehead. Shane pushes up the sleeves of his blue-tinged button up; Ryan watches the effortless sweeping motion before looking up to meet Shane’s eyes.

“Up north,” Ryan says, biting down on his lip, feeling sheepish. “You like werewolves, right?” 

Shane gives him a look, pure disdain in his eyes. Ryan can’t help but grin. 

“You’re joking, right?” Shane asks, setting his phone down on the desk. And just like that, Ryan has Shane’s whole, undivided attention. There’s something warm about it, the way Shane regards him with twinkling eyes. 

“It’s not for an episode or anything,” Ryan rushes to say. “There’s been some talk in the forums and I just thought it would be fun to drive up and just—we’ve been really busy and I just—” 

Ryan deflates, sensing Shane’s hesitation to say yes, but Shane gives him a bright smile that blooms slowly, clearly amused with Ryan’s antics. 

“I see,” Shane says cryptically. “I’m not sleeping in the woods, Ryan.” 

“You don’t have to! I already booked an Air Bnb. It’s a cabin in the woods. Since, you know. You like those.” 

Shane’s eyebrows fly up. 

“What?” Ryan asks. 

“Nothing. This is all very—I don’t know. Spur of the moment.” 

“I just got excited for this season of Supernatural to start filming, and thought, why not do one Blair Witch style, unofficially, just for me and you. It’ll be fun. It’s not like we’ll find anything.”

“Famous last words,” Shane says, turning back to his desk. Ryan knows he doesn’t believe that in the slightest. 

Ryan knows better than to say _what could possibly go wrong_ , but he thinks it. He thinks it and he smiles to himself, more excited than before now that Shane’s agreed to go with him.

-:- 

It’s not smart to take time off, considering they have so much shit to deal with daily, but it’s just a half day they take that Friday. They pile overnight bags filled with their clothes and toiletries and their laptops, so they can at least do _some_ work, into the backseat of Ryan’s car. Shane fits himself into Ryan’s passenger seat, already fiddling with the radio to change the station and connect his phone to the Bluetooth. 

Something incredibly chill begins to play as Ryan backs out of Shane’s driveway and sets off on their adventure. 

Ryan fuckin’ loves California. It’s the color of sand all year round, the heat sucking away the fresh green they should see in grass, in trees. Driving down city streets, there are girls in halters and short shorts, body glitter. The sidewalks are crowded with people and a wave of nostalgia hits him something hard, but it eases when he looks at Shane in the passenger seat, drumming his fingers on his thighs along with the music.

Ryan weaves through I-5 with ease, hitting traffic like he expects, but once it dissipates it’s a straight shot to Point Lobos. It’s close to the water, to where Ryan heavily doubts the presence of wolves in any form, but at the very least they get a nice weekend away from LA. 

The drive is easy—but it always is with Shane. He doesn’t backseat drive, doesn’t mind if they get a little lost sometimes. He doesn’t fidget with the music. He just sits there, offers conversation and jokes and jabs. He keeps Ryan company in this odd, liminal space, where they’re simultaneously here and there. Sometimes, it feels like they aren’t anywhere, but also like they’re everywhere. 

They talk between stretches of music. Ryan only stops once for coffee and a bathroom break, and to let Shane stretch out his legs after about three hours. Ryan giggles as he leans up against the passenger side door at the rest stop as Shane does dramatic stretches that garner odd looks from onlookers, but it’s one of those moments where Ryan knows he’s performing just to get a reaction from Ryan. 

“Come on, you weirdo,” Ryan says, smiling. 

“No, not yet. My legs, Ryan. You’ve got me in there like tuna in a tuna can.” Shane raises his arms to the sky and Ryan’s vision dips just to see the sliver of skin his forest green T-shirt exposes. “My eyes are up here,” Shane teases.

“Yeah, _all_ the way up there,” Ryan sighs. “I didn’t realize I’d need to bring a ladder on this trip.”

Shane laughs, and his eyes crinkle at the edges, and Ryan’s a little gone for it. 

They continue their drive for a couple more hours until they decide to stop for food, hitting a grocery store to pick up things for meals they’ll have at the cabin. Shane takes the junk Ryan sticks in the cart out, even when Ryan thinks he’s being sneaky about it. 

When they stand at the checkout line and Ryan’s swiping his debit card through the reader, he feels Shane’s hand rest low on his back, an absentminded touch. When Ryan looks up at Shane, Shane’s attention is on his phone. Heat prickles all over his skin, and Ryan smiles to himself. 

They make it in around six, pulling up the driveway to the tiny isolated cabin. The sun is still out, dark golden light saturating the scene. It’s nicer than the pictures. Ryan looks up to see Shane’s reaction, and he’s immediately pleased by Shane’s slow, easy smile.

“This is nice,” Shane murmurs. He turns in his seat to face Ryan. “This is really, really nice. Do we really have to go into the woods when we can just appreciate this really nice cabin?” 

Ryan laughs, turning the car off. “Tell you what; if you come ghoul-hunting with me tonight, I’ll give you the keys to the hot tub.” 

“ _Ryan_ ,” Shane says, “you got a place with a hot tub?” 

“Course I did, big guy.” Ryan grins. 

Shane’s face does something complicated, running through a multitude of emotions before settling on something far gentler than Ryan’s used to. 

“Come on, you can thank me later. I’m hungry and you’re cooking.” Ryan gets out of the car and busies himself rooting through the backseat for overnight bags and groceries. Shane’s on the other side, doing much of the same, and they share a look, one Ryan doesn’t know how to decipher, but Ryan’s heartbeat quickens in his chest. 

Walking towards the cabin, breathing in the clean fresh air, Ryan hopes this weekend doesn’t bite him in the ass. 

-:-

The cabin really is small, but it’s more than enough for the two of them. The front door leads into a cozy living room with a wide, open kitchen at the end. There are sliding doors that lead to an outside deck. Because Ryan hadn’t wanted to be presumptuous, or force something that wasn’t there, the cabin has two small bedrooms on opposite sides of the living room. 

There’s a small pinch of regret. 

They each set their things down in the living room, not quite claiming bedrooms yet, which bodes well for the night. Instead, Shane gets started on making dinner with the groceries they’d bought on the way. Ryan busts out a couple of beers and chips and salsa, making a seat for himself on the counter while Shane flits around the kitchen. 

Ryan watches with attentive fascination. Shane’s not the best at cooking, but out of the two of them, he’s infinitely better. It’s funny to Ryan when his frustration gets the best of him. Between chopping onions and peppers, making sauces and veggies, Shane lets Ryan taste bits of what he’s making. Ryan’s feeling the entire night, this inherent romanticism of being so far away from everything else and extremely close with each other, especially since they’ve kissed already. 

The anticipation for another kiss rides Ryan _hard_. Thinly-veiled behind the excuse of ghoul-hunting, Ryan hopes the night turns the way it should have the weekend before. He doesn’t know how it happened, how one second they’d been watching a movie, and the next, Shane had Ryan pinned to the arm of the couch, mouthing at his throat, Ryan’s hand clutching at Shane’s T-shirt, fingers grappling over his back to keep him close. 

It hadn’t been that late, they hadn’t drank much, they weren’t overcome with delirious exhaustion. It just seemed like Ryan shifted, and then Shane did, and somehow they’d met in the middle. Ryan remembers Shane’s lips being a little chapped, tasting like pizza. He remembers the way he’d pulled back and looked at Shane and said, “Good?” and Shane had answered him with another kiss.

Nothing else has happened since then. Not in a bad way; Shane isn’t cold, but he hasn’t been exceptionally warmer, either. Ryan isn’t sure where they stand. 

“Do you want to go down to the water?” Ryan asks, reaching out a hand to catch the hem of Shane’s shirt and pull him in. Not too close though, just closer. Shane smiles, turning towards Ryan, setting his freshly washed hand on Ryan’s thigh and leaving a handprint in the fabric of his jeans.

“Yeah. After dinner?” Shane asks. Ryan nods. “Good, go wash up. It’s done.” 

Ryan hops off the counter instead of rocking forward and meeting Shane for a kiss. 

-:- 

When night falls properly, Ryan leads Shane on a walk through sparse woods to reach the rocky shore of the beach. The sun sets, gorgeous light illuminating the sand with flecks of gold and liquid amber. They take their shoes off, leaving them on the trunk of a fallen tree, and Ryan stoops to roll up the hems of his jeans.

“Wanna know something funny?” Ryan asks, making his way down to the water, nudging Shane gently. 

Shane hums his response, looking out over the water. Sunlight filters through Shane’s irises, like light through a bottle of whiskey. 

“Do you know what _lobos_ means?” 

Shane gives him a pointed look. 

“Wolves.” Ryan grins, albeit a little wolfishly, and Shane rolls his eyes.

They enjoy the quiet that settles, walking along the shore with too much space between them. Ryan wonders if it’ll always be like this, the wild feeling of hanging on the edge of a cliff, unable to hold on any longer. 

“We’re not going to find anything,” Shane says after a while, “you know that, right? Worst thing that happens is we encounter a bear and you shit yourself.” 

Ryan laughs, shaking his head. “That’s _something_. I mean—you were gung ho about Bigfoot. Why not a werewolf?” 

“Because it’s not real. Not like Bigfoot could be. Who’s had a sighting of a werewolf, Ryan? No one.” 

“That’s not true,” Ryan says, grinning. 

“If that’s the case,” Shane retorts, “I’ll bet some party drugs were involved. Mushrooms maybe.” 

“Maybe.”

“Are you _conceding_?” Shane asks, seemingly scandalized. “What’s wrong with you?” Shane bumps into his shoulder. 

“Nothing.” Ryan looks up at Shane, shrugging. 

“It’s nice out here,” Shane says gently. “I’m glad you brought me here.” 

There it is. That tone of voice that Shane uses sometimes. It’s rare, so few and far between that Ryan gets to hear it. Heat drips down the back of Ryan’s neck and Ryan looks out over the water, cooled when a breeze blows past them, ruffling his hair. 

“Should we talk?” Ryan asks quietly, shoving his hands into his pockets. 

“Is that why you _really_ asked me up here?” Shane stops walking, and Ryan stops, too. 

“I mean. Yeah, I guess.” Ryan looks down at his feet. 

“Is there...something you want?” Shane asks. 

Ryan looks up then, pursing his lips. “Is there something _you_ want?” 

Shane quirks an eyebrow. “Asked you first.” 

Ryan kicks water at him, striking wet stains on the shins of Shane’s jeans. 

“You’re a _child_ ,” Shane mutters. Ryan sticks his tongue out.

Chuckling and shaking his head, Shane starts walking again, ambling slowly. Ryan follows. 

“Was it a mistake, do you think?” Ryan asks, voice low, gentle. “Last weekend?”

“I don’t think so. Doesn’t seem like one. Is that what you think it was?” 

“No. No, definitely not.” 

“Okay, then.” 

“Just okay?” Ryan sucks in a breath. 

“I asked you if you wanted something. You didn’t answer me,” Shane presses. 

The sound of a howl rents the air, and Ryan shivers, smiling wide.

“It’s probably a coyote,” Shane says, rolling his eyes. “It’s like you’re trying to die.” 

Ryan laughs. “I’m not. I’m just curious, is all.” 

“Humor me, Ryan. Just humor me. We find a werewolf. And then what?” 

Ryan shrugs. “I guess we run.” 

Shane’s laughter echoes in the woods. 

-:- 

It feels like they’re doing an episode, but Ryan knows there won’t be anything to cut and splice and pair to music. There won’t be a voiceover or graphics. It’s just Ryan and the speculation he’s read in forums, theories put together by the extraneous research he’s done late at night when insomnia hits hard. 

The air is thick with heat, and this far into the woods, the breeze of the ocean doesn’t reach to cool him down. He can feel sweat trickling down the back of his neck, along his temple. The earth crunches under their feet; crickets chirp. The night is quiet, and the moon is full above their heads. 

A sense of dread slithers down Ryan’s spine, and Ryan steps closer to Shane.

“We could be _inside_ , Ryan. If I’m going to be this hot, I want to be in the hot tub,” Shane mutters beside him. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Ryan says. “What is your obsession with those things?” 

“I like things that make me feel good, Ryan. Is that a crime?” Shane huffs.

Ryan snickers. “I’m sure you do, buddy.”

“What if I tried howling? Think our wolfish friend will come play?” Shane’s grin is shadowed, the light of Ryan’s flashlight catching the slope of his nose, his brow. He looks campfire-scary.

“Worth a try, although you might attract a coyote instead,” Ryan reasons. 

Shane howls, cartoonish and loud and silly, and Ryan laughs, turning his camera towards Shane. Shane winks at him and Ryan sets the lens back forward, continuing their pacing deeper into the woods. 

“Do you even know where we’re going?” Shane asks from behind him.

“I thought you were keeping track…” 

“What? Ryan—!” 

Ryan barks a laugh. “I’m just kidding, Shane, Jesus. Trust me.” He steps over a large rock, stumbling slightly. 

“Have you seen this moon, though? It’s fuckin’ huge,” Ryan says, looking up, marvelling at the bright luminescence that shines light through the forest canopies. When Shane doesn’t answer him, Ryan looks over his shoulder. 

When he doesn’t see Shane, he does a quick spin. Shane isn’t anywhere in his immediate view. Ryan shines his flashlight through the trees, squinting, trying to catch Shane hiding playfully behind a tree. 

“Ha ha,” Ryan says loudly. “This isn’t funny, Shane.” 

Shane’s voice doesn’t come, and Ryan grows impatient quickly. That sense of dread comes back, burrowing in his belly, igniting the quick rhythm of his heart.

“Shane? _Shane_ ,” Ryan calls, shining the flashlight over tree trunks, into the dense forest. He doesn’t see any signs of Shane’s grey T-shirt, or the cool blue of his pants. He’s too big to hide so easily, but somehow he seems to have managed to. 

“I really don’t want to play your freaky hide-n-go-seek right now,” Ryan whines. “Come out slowly, cause if you scare me, I’m eating the keys to the hot tub.”

Ryan backtracks, carefully, slowly, on guard so he’s prepared when Shane inevitably jumps out of the woods and scares him. Except it doesn’t feel like a game, and Ryan’s worry bleeds through his limbs, unsettling and thick, sitting like acid in his chest. 

A howl, loud and nearby, rips through the air. Ryan jumps, accidentally dropping the flashlight to the ground. He scrambles for it, fingers catching on rough forest brush. His hands are shaking too much to keep the light steady as he looks around frantically.

“Shane?” he whispers. “ _Shane_?”

The forest seems to hold its breath. Shane doesn’t answer him. Nothing does.

Ryan exhales, and from somewhere behind him there’s a rustle in the brush. A twig snaps. Ryan forces himself to look. 

“ _Run_.” 

A scream bubbles up from the back of his throat when he turns towards the voice and finds Shane, crouched over, bent at the waist. 

“Shane, what the fuck?” Ryan hisses, adrenaline tasting like iron in his mouth. When Shane looks at Ryan, his face his pinched, jaw clenched like he’s in pain. He shuts his eyes tight as he stands up straight.

“Fucking _run,_ Ryan,” Shane demands, and Ryan listens this time, curling his hand around Shane’s arm and yanking him along. They break out into a sprint, running over brush with only the moonlight to guide them on their trail since Ryan can’t hold the flashlight steady enough to light the way. Ryan keeps his hand clasped tight around Shane’s forearm, even though it makes running difficult.

Ryan isn’t sure if anything is chasing them, but the hair on the back of his neck rises. He _swears_ he feels something breathing at his nape. 

They finally slow as the light of the cabin’s back porch comes into view. Ryan all but drags Shane the rest of the way to get them inside, locking the sliding glass door behind him. There isn’t anything out there he can see. Not really. There’s a glow, two red orbs—like _eyes_ , but the second Ryan blinks, they’re gone. 

Ryan turns away from the glass, trying to slow his breathing. He convinces himself he’s imagined it. It’s just the adrenaline, his fear, working him up. It’s just his mind playing tricks— 

“Ryan, I—” 

Shane’s voice is strained and when Ryan turns around, Ryan’s breath is knocked out of his lungs at the sight of him. His T-shirt is soaked through with blood high on his waist, and Ryan’s heart leaps into his throat.

“Oh my God, Shane! What—” 

“It’s fine, I just need—” Shane stumbles, eyes drooping. Ryan reaches out to right him, one hand holding Shane’s shoulder and the other winding around his waist.

“Bathroom, come on.” 

Shane goes willingly, allowing Ryan to tug him along. He walks them backwards so if Shane topples over, at least Ryan can break his fall. 

In the bathroom, Ryan grapples against the wall for the light switch, flinching when the fan kicks on. Shane leans against him, and Ryan holds Shane’s weight, fisting his hand in the back of Shane’s T-shirt.

“Shane, I think—I really think you need to go to the hospital.” 

“I’m fine, it’s just a scratch,” he mumbles, nuzzling his face in Ryan’s hair. Ryan inhales quick and sharp; he feels like he’s being pulled into different directions, but he can only really focus on the way his palm becomes sticky with the way Shane’s blood soaks his shirt. 

“Something just tried to _steal your liver with its teeth_.” Ryan walks him backwards, reaching around to shut the lid of the toilet. “Come on, sit for me.” 

“I’m pretty sure—” Shane takes a deep breath, hissing when Ryan keeps him steady so he can sit. “I’m pretty sure my liver is on the other side.” 

“Sentiment stands, Shane, you’re bleeding all over the place.” 

“Just rinse me off, slap a bandage on it, and we can go in the morning,” Shane mutters. When Ryan steps back, he can see Shane wincing. 

“We should go right now. Please—I just—” Ryan’s hands are shaking when he looks down at them, stained bright red. He steps over to the sink and turns the faucet on, washing his hands thoroughly, pink sitting in the basin. When he catches himself in the mirror, he looks pale, and nausea rears its ugly head, a threat caught at the back of his throat. Nothing comes of it, though. 

“Okay, can you—I need you to get your shirt off. Can you lift your arm?” 

With a sharp inhale, Shane lifts up the side of his shirt, stuffing it under his armpit. His waist is branded with an enormous bite mark, a deep set of puncture wounds just underneath his ribcage. It sets off wild alarm bells in Ryan’s mind, because there’s no _fucking way_. 

“Shane…”

“Help me into the shower.” 

Fighting the urge to drag Shane to the car instead, Ryan steps past Shane in the small bathroom and yanks back the shower curtain, turning the knobs to set the water temperature. He turns back to Shane and helps him out of his T-shirt, slowly, careful not to hurt Shane more than he already is.

With a hand on Ryan’s shoulder, Shane stands up, looking pale but otherwise okay. 

“Can you get out of the rest on your own?” Ryan asks, feeling his cheeks flush and ignoring it. 

“Yeah, I think so. Uh, just leave the door open in case something happens,” Shane says. 

Ryan leaves the bathroom and settles himself in the kitchen. He leans against the counter and strains his hearing for anything that might sound off, staring at the refrigerator. For the most part, Shane sounds like he’s fine. Ryan barely breathes.

“Ryan?” 

Startled by Shane’s voice, Ryan jumps, but immediately walks back towards the bathroom. “Yeah?”

“Will you grab me a towel?” 

Ryan does just that from the closet in the hallway. In the bathroom, the water is off, and Shane is still behind the curtain. Ryan sticks his hand behind it. 

“Here,” he says. 

“Thanks,” Shane says, taking the towel. 

“Do you need help getting out?” 

Shane groans. “Uh, no. But stay. I’m going to need your help to get it bandaged.” 

Ryan walks over the bathroom sink, rooting underneath it for a first aid kit. He’s lucky. It doesn’t have much, but he’s crafty. He figures he can create something big enough to patch Shane up with the tape and piles of gauze that are inside. He finds a bottle of alcohol and makes a face. It’s going to be painful, but since Shane won’t let him take him to the hospital, it’s their best bet. 

When Shane comes out from behind the curtain, he’s soaking wet, hair stuck to his forehead, skin pink from the heat. The bite mark looks irritated and angry, although much better now that it isn’t covered in so much blood. It doesn’t seem to be as big or as threatening as it had, and the puncture marks don’t look as deep as Ryan had initially thought.

“We should probably—can you—come with me,” Ryan finally gets out, taking hold of Shane’s wrist in his hand and leading him out of the bathroom after he grabs the first aid kit from the counter. He takes Shane to the bedroom. “Lay down.” 

On the bed, Shane lays on his good side. Ryan sits gingerly in front of him, taking a deep breath, willing himself to stop shaking.

“I can’t believe you won’t go to the hospital.” 

“I’ll be fine,” Shane says, his voice soft. When Ryan looks at him, he really does look fine. He’s got color in his face and his eyes are clear. 

“I’m so upset with you, Shane. What if you get an infection? You were bit by a wild animal. You could contract _rabies_.” 

“Maybe.” Shane sets his hand on Ryan’s thigh, and Ryan looks down, observes the span of Shane’s fingers, the way his thumb rubs soothing circles into the fabric of his jeans. It’s calming. Ryan doesn’t want to be calm. 

“Shane…” 

“Come on, doc, fix me up.” Shane smiles, gentle and open and honest. Ryan feels his chest warm, anger seeping out of him like a balloon with a pin-prick of a leak. Ryan pouts, but he does as he’s told, gathering the alcohol and gauze. 

“This is going to hurt,” Ryan warns. Shane doesn’t say anything, but he closes his eyes, and Ryan unscrews the cap from the alcohol bottle, setting a handful of gauze against Shane’s stomach to catch the excess pour. Ryan tips the bottle and lets the liquid soak over Shane’s wound.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Shane hisses. “Oh my god, oh, fuck, that’s—” Shane groans, loud and pained, rubbing his face into the bedspread—his body is surprisingly still, even though he’s gone tense. His hand grips Ryan’s thigh tight.

“I’m almost done, you big baby.” Ryan mops up what he can, taking care not to press so hard against the bite. He puts the bloodied, alcohol soaked gauze on the floor and opens up a fresh pack. He sets it over Shane’s wound, neatly covering the wide span of puncture marks. The bleeding has stopped, but Ryan knows it should be covered. He tapes the gauze to Shane’s skin, careful, gentle, holding his breath all the while.

Shane exhales and he relaxes, tension melting away. 

“All done,” Ryan murmurs, glancing at Shane’s face; his eyes blink open. Shane doesn’t take his hand away from Ryan’s thigh. 

“Ryan—” 

“No. You are so—I can’t believe you. I’m going to kill you if I wake up and you’re dead,” Ryan promises, feeble and small.

“Double homicide,” Shane jokes. Ryan doesn’t smile. 

“I’m so serious, Shane. I was so fucking scared, standing in the goddamn dark, calling out for you. Do you know—” Ryan sucks in a shaky breath, looking down at Shane's hand on his leg. He sets his hand over Shane’s, just holding for a second. 

Shane sits up quickly, like he isn’t injured, drawing Ryan close with his arms. Ryan goes, shoving his face into the damp, overheated warmth of Shane’s shoulder. 

“I’m fine, I’m right here,” Shane whispers, hands warm and firm where they splay across Ryan’s back. Ryan nods. 

“You are, but I was afraid that maybe—maybe something had taken you. I know I told you we came out to look for werewolves—” Ryan huffs a laugh, pulling back from Shane’s hold just to look up at him. He sighs. “This was so stupid.”

“It’s not stupid. We’re here, in a super dope cabin that has a hot tub,” Shane says easily. Ryan can hear his smile. 

“Shane, you idiot,” Ryan says, wheezing a small laugh. “You can’t get into the hot tub with a wound.” 

“Aww, fuck, you’re right.” Shane pouts and Ryan laughs fully, leaning into Shane. 

“Just get some rest, okay? And please don’t die in the middle of the night.” 

“No promises, but I’ll do my best.” 

When Ryan pulls back, he’s overcome with the overwhelming urge to lean in and kiss Shane, and for a moment he almost does. There’s a look in Shane’s eyes, unreadable, but Ryan feels like there’s an invitation there. He untangles himself and stands instead, gathering the mess he’s made. “I’ll bring you some aspirin.”

When Ryan leaves the room, he feels lighter. He busies himself gathering aspirin from his bag, water from the filter in the fridge. When he gets back to Shane’s room, Shane’s shirtless and wearing pajama pants, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Ryan hates how attracted he is, how he wants to press himself to the long line of Shane’s body. He wants to let Shane wind his arms all around him, hold him against the mattress. Ryan wants, so badly, to lose his breath underneath the heaviness of Shane’s body. 

Instead, he just hands Shane the pills and the glass of water. 

“If something happens, please wake me up, okay?” Ryan asks from the doorway. Shane nods. 

“I will. Go to sleep. You look dead on your feet.” 

“Because I’m worried about you, you jerk.” 

Shane huffs a laugh. “How am I a jerk?” 

Ryan shakes his head. “You know why.” He turns to leave the room, catching Shane’s voice saying _night, Ryan_. He responds in kind, muttering under his breath as he shuts his door. In his bathroom, he starts the shower and washes the night off, dirt and blood circling the drain. 

In his bedroom, he pulls on pajamas and switches the light off, tucking himself underneath the covers. It’s one of the few nights he finds sleep so, so easily.

-:-

Morning brings endless sunlight, streaming abundantly through curtains he hadn’t closed the night before. He blinks his eyes open and looks up at the ceiling, stretching out his limbs, sweaty underneath the blankets. His arm knocks into a body. He turns over and finds Shane asleep, covered under the blankets with his face pressed into the pillow, his arm loosely slung low over Ryan’s belly. 

It’s not new. It’s not often he wakes up tangled like this with Shane whenever they share a bed, but sometimes it happens. He’s just curious as to why Shane’s in his bed _now_ since Ryan had fallen asleep achingly alone. 

Ryan takes a moment to look at Shane, at the way he sleeps sprawled all over his side of the bed. Ryan could just slip back under, snuggle in close and fall back to sleep. And since Shane’s gone and wrapped himself around Ryan, Ryan sinks down into the bed. 

He presses in close, and Shane’s arm tightens around him, fingers drifting innocently underneath the hem of Ryan’s T-shirt. Sleep-warm and so pliant, Ryan allows the gentle touch of Shane’s palm to slip over his waist, resting against the small of his back. Shane keeps his eyes closed the whole time, even as Ryan watches him. The rhythm of Shane’s fingers drifting slowly over Ryan’s back pulls him back into sleep. 

-:-

When Ryan wakes up, he’s alone and cold. It doesn't startle him or surprise him, but the bed next to him is cool underneath his palm. He gets out of bed. 

“Shane?” he calls into the living room. There isn’t an answer. He checks Shane’s room, which is empty, and then the bathroom, also empty. The kitchen is dark, and he isn’t anywhere in the cabin. Worry sticks like cough syrup in the back of his throat, but it’s only for a few harried moments before Shane is coming through the front door, dressed in his running clothes and drenched in sweat. Ryan hadn’t even known Shane had _brought_ running clothes. 

“Where were you?” Ryan asks, maybe a bit too forcefully, accusatory, if the surprised look on Shane’s face is anything to go by.

“I had loads of energy.” Shane wipes his brow with his forearm. “Thought I’d run it off.” 

Ryan regards Shane carefully. “Aren’t you in, like, a lot of pain?” 

“No, I feel really good actually. Took care of the bandaging myself. Wasn’t too hard. There wasn’t even any blood. I think you overreacted last night.” 

“ _Overrea—_ ” Ryan decides to choose his battles here, especially with the way Shane looks at him, desperately pleading for him to let it go. Ryan sighs. “Can you at least make breakfast for the guy that saved your life?”

“Saved my life?” Shane’s laugh is loud. “Of course. My _hero_. Repaid with scrambled eggs and toast.” 

“You’re incredible,” Ryan says, but he absolutely does not mean it as a compliment. “Can you—can I see it?”

“Don’t worry, it’s fine, Ry.” Shane turns to walk away. But Ryan catches Shane’s wrist in his hand, keeping him. 

“I’m sure it’s fine, but I just want to see it. To make sure it’s not infected.”

“You know you’re not a real doctor, right?” Shane tugs his hand away.

“But I’m the best you got since you won’t let me take you to an _actual_ doctor.” Ryan sets his hands on his hips, standing defensive. 

“Just let it go, Ryan, it’s fine.” Shane turns again, this time towards the bedroom. 

“Why can’t I see it?” Ryan follows Shane, watches as Shane strips from his shirt, dropping it to the floor.

“ _What_?”

“Just let me see it.” Ryan knows he’s pressing, knows his adamance is going to quickly annoy Shane, but why won’t Shane just let him look?

“Drop it, Ryan.” 

“No! I’m not going to drop it. Just let me make sure you’re okay!” He doesn’t mean to yell, but Shane is being too stubborn for what the situation calls for. He was _injured_ , and Ryan had _panicked_. The least he can do is give Ryan some peace of mind. But Shane just stares at him. 

“I already said it’s fine. Why won’t you believe me?” 

“Because! Because weird things are happening! Because you got bit by an animal deep enough to squirt blood all over the place, and now you’re going for runs? You should be in pain! Never mind that you’re probably infected, but you’re just—” Ryan eyes Shane carefully. “Did you actually see what bit you?” 

“Ryan don’t—”

“I’m just saying, you were out in the woods and—”

“Ryan—” 

“—something bit you and now you’re doing better than you were—”

“ _Ryan_ —” 

“—before. What if it was a were—” 

“Ryan! Just stop!” 

Silent falls between them. Ryan closes his mouth with an audible snap. He frowns, startled by Shane’s raised voice. He swallows thickly. 

“Are you listening to yourself? You sound ridiculous!” Red creeps down Shane’s neck. Ryan knows he’s gone and pissed Shane off, but Shane is always good at ignoring red flags in favor of blaming it on something _safe_. 

“It’s not ridiculous!” Ryan says, indignant. “Just let me fucking see it!” 

“ _No_.” Shane sits on the edge of the bed, and Ryan continues to stand in the doorway. Ryan crosses his arms. 

“Something is wrong and you’re ruling out a very, very possible theory,” Ryan says lowly. 

“It’s not possible, because just like your _ghosts_ and your _demons_ , werewolves are not real.” Shane exhales, head in his hands as his elbows stand perched on his knees. 

“Something bit you.” 

“And it was _probably_ a bear,” Shane mutters.

Ryan knows Shane said as much just to spite him. Ryan rolls his eyes. 

“There aren’t any bears out here, I fuckin’ checked. So it was something else, something big enough for—” 

“I’m done talking about this,” Shane says. He gets up, swipes his shirt from the floor, and pushes past Ryan in the doorway. Ryan doesn't stop him. 

-:-

When Shane doesn’t immediately come back, Ryan worries some, but he’s mad enough that he’s not _that_ worried. Eventually, Ryan gets his teeth brushed and makes himself some toast, sitting on the couch with his phone. 

Things were supposed to have gone much differently. He’d thought maybe, _maybe_ , Shane would have looked at him differently. That maybe after walking through the woods they would have sat in the hot tub like he knew Shane wanted. They would have had a couple of beers and let themselves flirt. 

It would have made Ryan brave enough to tell Shane all the things he’s been wanting to say for the last few years. 

Instead, Ryan lays on the couch with his laptop and binges through the bag of chips and salsa as he pulls up whatever footage he managed to capture with his phone. 

There’s nothing. There isn’t much footage to begin with, just half an hour’s worth. 

Ryan—because he is who he is and he feels the way he feels—gets stuck at Shane howling like an idiot in the middle of a dark forest, winking at him, like he’s proud he’d made Ryan laugh. Ryan should have known then that he would end up here, sitting on the couch, pining after a dude he kissed once at eight pm on a Tuesday while _The Thing_ played in the background. 

“Fuck,” Ryan mutters under his breath. He clicks out of the footage and pulls up Netflix, finding something to fall asleep to. 

-:-

_He’s running. There’s something on the heels of his feet, close enough for claws to scrape against his flesh. He’s running, running._

_When he looks back, he sees red eyes._

Ryan is startled awake, opening his eyes to find Shane standing over him. His eyebrows are furrowed; he looks concerned.

“You’re gonna hurt yourself sleeping like that,” Shane murmurs. “Were you having a nightmare?”

Ryan’s heartbeat thrums quick, but he nods, attempting to blink sleep out of his eyes. He stretches his legs in front of him, joints cracking. 

“Are you okay?” Shane asks, kneeling down, closer to Ryan. 

“Yeah,” Ryan whispers. “Just—it’s nothing. Where did you go? You keep disappearing on me.”

Shane makes a noise. “Are you hungry?"

“Aren’t you mad at me?” 

“Very,” Shane says. “But that doesn’t mean I want you to starve yourself.” 

Ryan sits up on the couch, and Shane stands, drifting into the kitchen. Ryan goes for another shower, and by the time he returns, Shane’s made spaghetti. 

After eating, it’s still light enough outside that Shane says he’s going for a run. It annoys Ryan, but rather than fight about it, he goes to his room. Still so exhausted, he drops off into sleep, however fitful. 

-:-

In the morning, Shane is in bed with him again, just like the day before. This time, instead of thinking about it, Ryan moves into Shane, seeking the heat of his chest, tangling their legs. Shane’s hand presses against his back and Ryan drifts quickly into sleep. 

It’s late morning by the time Ryan wakes again. Muted light illuminates the bedroom. Ryan rubs the sleep from his eyes, blinking up at the ceiling, vision unfocused without his glasses or contacts. 

He’s alone in bed, which—typical. For whatever reason, Shane saw it fit to climb in during the middle of the night, but Ryan figures he’s still too upset with Ryan to stick around. It annoys Ryan, but he manages to shove it way deep and ignore it, getting out of bed to get ready for the day. 

Shane isn’t in the cabin when he goes looking. There isn’t a note, but Ryan guesses he’s running again. Ryan cleans up the kitchen and gathers his things, setting his bags inside the car.

He sits on the porch outside, basking in the heat when Shane finally comes back, looking bright and shiny. 

“Ready to go?” Ryan asks him. 

Shane shrugs by way of responding, and Ryan resists the urge to roll his eyes. 

“Great. Grab your stuff and let’s get going.” Ryan stands and pockets his phone, as Shane breezes past him inside the cabin.

-:-

The five and a half hour drive home feels different. They aren’t like they’d been when they’d driven in. The music plays and conversation doesn’t flow. Ryan can feel Shane is still upset with him.

Except when they get into town, close to where Ryan will have to make a turn for Shane’s house rather than his own, Shane turns the music down and says, “Can I come in?” 

Ryan glances from the windshield to Shane. “Sure?” 

“Cool.” 

“I thought you were still mad at me,” Ryan says slowly.

Shane shrugs. “I am.” 

“Okay, so don’t you want to go be mad at yours?” 

“No.” 

Confusion washes over Ryan, and then worry. “Did you hit your head on Friday night? Oh God, do you have a concussion or something?” Ryan shakes his head. “I’m taking you to the hospital right now.” 

“Ryan! I said I don’t want to go.” 

“I don’t want you to _die_ in my living room. Shane, why are you being so difficult?” 

“I’m not. I just don’t want to do something you’re trying to make me do. Head feels fine, the bite feels fine, and that’s that. Now, can we just go eat popcorn and watch some B-list horror movie? Please?” 

Ryan stares at the road ahead and then blinks, shaking his head. “I really don’t get you, man. I really don’t.” 

Shane looks out of the window and doesn’t answer. 

-:-

Finally home, Ryan parks his car and leans back against the seat, looking over at Shane. Shane looks back at him with clear eyes, alert and awake. Despite sleeping most of the weekend, Ryan feels like he could sleep some more. 

“I’m starving. Do you maybe want to order something?” Ryan asks.

Shane doesn’t say anything as he gets out of the car. He doesn’t grab for his bag, just heads towards the front door of Ryan’s house. Ryan sighs. 

After climbing out of the driver’s seat, he opens the back door and grabs his bag as well as Shane’s before following him inside. 

The house is empty, which is usual these days, his roommates out with significant others, or _out_ period. Ryan drops their bags onto the sofa. Shane’s in the kitchen, raiding the refrigerator. 

And by raiding, Ryan actually means as much. 

“Shane?” 

“Yeah?” He looks at Ryan from behind the door, mouth full of—Ryan can’t even tell, but it freaks Ryan out. Shane’s not one to just invite himself, despite Ryan’s many invitations to do so. 

“I’m—I was going to order something, what do you feel like?” 

Shane grunts, doesn’t really give him an option, and Ryan sighs. He pulls his phone out from his pocket and pulls up Postmates, scanning through to find something. 

“Tacos, and a burger.” Shane’s voice comes from directly behind him, and Ryan jumps, squeaking. 

“Jesus,” Ryan huffs. “Don’t fuckin’ sneak up on me, God.” Ryan’s heart thumps quick. He feels like his heart hasn’t stopped beating this fast since they’d been in the woods. 

“Sorry. Can you order a pizza, too?” 

“Shane—we don’t need that much food—” 

Shane ignores him, snatching his phone from his hand. Irritation burns at Ryan’s neck but he leaves it be, dropping his hands at his sides and flopping himself down on the couch. 

In the end, Shane orders _several_ plates of tacos, two burgers, a medium pizza, and a slew of different kinds of French fries. Ryan thinks it’s impossible for Shane to consume it, but he watches with grotesque fascination as Shane does in fact eat every last bit of it. 

“Oh my God. Is this what I look like?” 

Shane laughs. “Yeah, probably. It’s a little gross.” 

“More like a lot gross, Jesus. You got a hollow leg or something?” 

“Nah, just really hungry.” 

“This is…not normal, Shane.” 

“Whatever. Let’s watch that movie, huh?” Shane says. 

Ryan studies Shane for a moment, contemplating whether or not he can trick Shane into the car and drive him to the hospital. Against his better judgement he concedes, turning on the television and drawing up Netflix. He chooses something at random and lets it play. 

Shane promptly falls asleep, slumped against the arm of the couch with his feet up on the coffee table. Ryan leaves him there when the movie ends, lifting himself up to toss the trash they’d accumulated. 

When he gets out of the shower, Shane is lying in his bed, underneath his blankets, and Ryan tries not to be upset by it. Mostly because it’s what he wants, nights where he’s shower-warm and the bed is even warmer because Shane is in it. But right now, Shane’s acting so _fucking weird_ it’s hard to allow himself to enjoy the image of Shane’s long limbs, his giant frame taking up so much space against Ryan’s striped pillows and sheets. 

For the millionth time that day, Ryan sighs. With his towel wrapped around his waist, Ryan roots through his drawers, picking out a pair of sleep pants, shoving them on awkwardly until they’re up and settled on his hips. He discards the towel onto the floor. He opens a different drawer for— 

“No shirt.” 

Ryan looks over his shoulder. Shane’s watching him with dark eyes. Ryan tenses. Shane shouldn’t get to have a say. Why should he? Considering the mess of the weekend, and the mess of his feelings, and how they’re standing at an impasse? 

Even then, with all of that, Ryan caves and shuts the drawer just this side of too hard. He shuts off the light before climbing into bed. 

Underneath the blankets, Shane moves in close, his arm coming around Ryan’s waist. Ryan lets himself be pulled into against Shane’s body; he’s so hot Ryan worries he’s running a fever.

“Shane,” Ryan whispers. “I’m worried about you.” 

“I’m fine, Ry. Really.” Shane presses his face into Ryan’s shoulder, humming. “Come here.” 

“I am here.” Ryan goes, though, turning onto his side to face away from Shane and tucking himself against the hot, solid breadth of Shane’s chest. Shane’s hand presses low against Ryan’s bare stomach and Ryan tenses, but nothing else happens. 

“Relax,” Shane whispers, drumming his fingers against Ryan’s skin. Ryan exhales, _trying_ , and sinks into the softness of his mattress, burrowing deep underneath the covers. Shane seems to drop into sleep all too quick, and Ryan stares at the wall until sleep calls for him.

-:-

When Ryan wakes up to his alarm, he reaches to turn it off. Shane is still pressed against his back, arm slung around his chest, and he’s dead asleep.

The thing is, Ryan doesn’t want to get used to this. Ryan doesn’t want to wake up next to Shane in the mornings and get used to the way it feels to be tucked in so close if they continue to toe this line of _maybe_ and _could be_ and never tip over into something _real._ Ryan’s grasping at air, at nothing. 

“Shane,” Ryan says, voice rough with sleep as he nudges Shane gently. “We gotta wake up.” 

Shane burrows in closer. “No thanks,” he murmurs, breath hot against Ryan’s shoulder. 

“We have to go to work,” Ryan says, trying again. 

“We own the company, Ryan, we can be late one day.” 

“Shane—”

“Just go back to sleep,” Shane grumbles. 

Anxiety prickles, but Shane doesn’t move. And so it seems like Ryan is sleeping in today, against his will but not _totally_ uninvited. “Can I at least—” 

Shifting to get comfortable, Ryan turns onto his other side. 

Maybe enabling the cuddling when he’s got feelings for Shane isn’t the smartest thing to do, but he’s only human and Shane runs hot these days, drawing Ryan in like a moth to a flame. 

Ryan presses into Shane’s chest and Shane’s arm comes around his waist, pressing low against Ryan’s back. He’s too tired to say anything about it, but he does say, “People are going to notice if we both come in late at the same time,” in a rough whisper.

“Why is your heart beating so fast?” Shane asks. 

“Because I hate being late!” Ryan says, even though it’s a boldfaced lie. Shane hums. 

“Is it because we kissed that one time and sort of never talked about it and now, we’re cuddling like we’re together?”

“We’re not talking about that right now,” Ryan mutters.

“Why not?” 

“Because I don’t want to. Can we just sleep?”

Shane huffs a breath, but he pulls the blankets up higher around them. Ryan doesn't go back to sleep.

For one, it’s too hot to be truly comfortable with Shane burning against him. And two, Ryan still can’t get the idea out of his head that something is very, very wrong with Shane. He isn’t an affectionate person, and Ryan wouldn’t have ever taken Shane for a cuddler. Not like this, at least. Skipping work to sleep? More on the nose, but the food thing last night was _horrendous_ , and Shane going for a run after being chomped on like a chew toy? Impossible.

The _wound_. The wound Shane wouldn’t let him see. He’s close enough that he could lift a hand underneath Shane’s T-shirt, just to feel. 

“Shane?” Ryan whispers. He doesn’t answer Ryan, and when Ryan shifts, it just knocks a gentle snore out of Shane. Ryan holds his breath, pulling the blanket back just enough to expose Shane’s waist. Ryan can see Shane’s uncovered skin at his hip.

He gently reaches out his arm to lift Shane’s T-shirt. 

A hand comes around Ryan’s wrist, gripping just this side of too tight. Ryan gasps. 

“You can’t let anything go, can you?” Shane asks, voice rough. When Ryan looks at him, his eyes are dark, and his lips are downturned. Ryan swallows thickly. 

“Why are you hiding?” Ryan counters. “I wouldn’t have to let anything go if you would just let me see.” 

Shane rolls his eyes. “Can’t we just have this?”

“What? What is this, Shane? What are we doing?” 

“I don’t know!” Shane lets Ryan’s wrist go and rolls out of bed. “You’re the one who doesn’t want to talk about it.” 

“So, you want to talk about it? Talk to me, then.” 

Shane stands up from the bed and shoves his fingers through his hair. Ryan sits up, bunching his fingers in the comforter, watching as Shane picks up his clothes from the floor. He gets dressed.

“You’re the one who came into _my_ bed, Shane. You obviously have something to say. Just _say_ it.” 

“I’m just—I’ll see you at work,” Shane says. 

Ryan flops down against the bed, and before Shane leaves the room, Ryan throws a pillow at him. 

-:-

On his way in to work, Ryan grabs himself a coffee with a couple extra shots of espresso. When he gets into the office, he doesn’t see Shane, and all his monitors are dark, like maybe he hasn’t shown up yet. When he looks for Steven, Steven isn’t at his desk either, but the screensaver he has programmed with the Watcher logo blinks over his screen. 

“Hey Brit,” Ryan calls, and Brittney looks up from her station, smiling kindly at him. 

“Morning, Ryan,” she says. 

“You seen Tweedledee and Tweedledum today?” 

Brittney purses her lips. “Yeah? But only for a minute. Shane came in, and Steven all but jumped out of his seat and dragged him out of here. It was kinda weird, I’m not going to lie. Steven said they were late for a meeting, but I don’t remember you guys having anything like that scheduled.”

They didn’t. Ryan double-checks his email on his phone in case there was something he missed, but nothing pops up. It’s Monday, which means editing for the upcoming week and other programs they’d shot. And they don’t have to do anything for Unsolved until next week. 

Rather than dwell on it and work himself up, he takes a seat at his desk and starts up his computer. He plugs himself into his work, headphones on, and drowns out the rest. 

It’s not until after noon that Shane and Steven come strolling in, Shane’s face as stoic and void of emotion as ever. Steven, on the other hand, looks morose, saddened, shoulders hunched and eyes downcast. 

Steven passes his station, tossing him a gentle greeting. Ryan tugs away one ear of his headphones, looking up at Steven.

“You alright, man?” Ryan asks, and Steven shrugs. 

“Yeah, I’m good,” Steven says, but it betrays the look on his face, the pinch of his eyebrows and solemn frown. 

Steven doesn’t stick around for conversation. He continues walking down the room towards his own work-station. 

Shane comes to sit next to him at his own station. Ryan takes his headphones off and lets them rest around his neck.

“Where were you guys?” 

Shane shrugs. “Had some breakfast and, you know, general BFF bonding outside of work.” 

“Doesn’t count if it’s during the workday,” Ryan says. “Is everything okay? You guys don’t look like you had much fun.” 

“Peachy, Ryan,” he says, but his tone is too prickly for it to be true. This time, Ryan does let it go, unwilling to deal with Shane’s sour attitude. 

Throughout the rest of the day, Shane and Ryan don’t talk much, only trading information as needed when consulted by each other or someone else. 

When six o’clock rolls around, Ryan gathers his things, readying to go. He turns to Shane, swiveling in his chair.

“Do you want to come over again?” he asks, treading lightly, considering the argument they had this morning. Either way, it doesn’t matter, considering Shane shakes his head. 

“I’m going to go see a movie with Steven,” he says, not even turning to look at Ryan.

“Steven?” 

“Yes?” 

“Why?” 

“Why not?”

“Shane—” Ryan sighs. “Whatever.” 

Ryan gets up and walks away, disappointed when Shane doesn’t call for him to say—

What does he want Shane to say? It’s weird they have an argument, and then Shane immediately starts hanging out with Steven. Ryan doesn’t know what to make of that. Of all the friends Shane has— _Steven_?

What do they even have in common?

In the car, Ryan doesn’t immediately go home. He drives for a while, in circles around his city, before he gets hungry and stops for food. He’s not one to eat alone very often, but tonight he does, sitting down for tacos at a Mexican place he likes. He scrolls through his phone while he eats, through Instagram, Twitter, Snapchat, and then back through again. 

When he gets home, there’s a roommate or two about, and Ryan could hang out, but he goes up to his room. 

And sulks. 

He works, though, pulling out his laptop and writing his script for a later episode of Unsolved. He manages to get through a good chunk before exhaustion begins to tug at him. He gets out of bed, brushes his teeth and goes to sleep. 

-:-

In the morning, his alarm blares and Ryan blinks open his eyes, shutting off his phone. He gets up, gets dressed, and goes to work. 

Like the morning before, Shane’s computer screens are dark, and this time, so are Steven’s. Ryan slumps into his desk chair, doesn’t bother asking if anyone has seen them.

Again, it’s after lunch when Shane and Steven come strolling in, and this time, they’re _laughing_. The sound of it grates Ryan’s nerves. 

Steven passes by him and Shane sits at his station.

“Breakfast again?” Ryan asks. 

“Yeah,” Shane says simply. 

Ryan turns back to his screen and sighs. 

At the end of the day, Ryan tries again. “Do you want to—” 

“Can’t,” Shane responds, not even allowing Ryan to finish his question. Ryan clenches his jaw, but doesn’t say anything, just grabs his things and goes. 

This time, when he gets home, he joins his roommates for dinner, sitting on the couch and laughing while they watch a movie.

When he goes to bed, he hates how he thinks about Shane, about how much warmer he’d be if Shane came crawling underneath the bedsheets, winding lanky limbs around his body. As it happens, Ryan is alone.

Sleep doesn’t come as easily tonight, thinking over the last two mornings, over the past weekend. Is Ryan going nuts? He doesn’t think so, but it seems like things have become weird, living in some alternate reality where Shane is newly minted BFFs with Steven and Ryan can’t stop thinking about Shane sleeping in his bed. 

When he does eventually fall asleep, he has another nightmare, glowing red eyes chasing him as he runs. 

He wakes up to the blaring of his alarm clock, shuffling his hand over his nightstand without looking just to shut it off. He slumps into his bed, rubbing his face against his pillow. 

When he strolls into work, Steven and Shane are gone again and Ryan rolls his eyes. When they make it in, finally, Shane seems to be in a pretty good mood, which pisses Ryan off. 

“You know,” he says as Shane sits. “We have a company to run.” 

“And we’re running it,” Shane tells him, looking at Ryan with darkened eyes. Ryan stares back at him. 

“What’s with the half days?”

“I already told you—” 

“That you’re hanging out with _Steven_ , I know,” Ryan mutters. “But can you do it _after_ work? I don’t see why you need to take four hour long breakfasts when we have deadli—”

“I don’t need a lecture, Ryan,” Shane says, and slips his headphones over his ears, shutting Ryan out. Ryan turns back to his monitor, glaring, unseeing, and then glances over at Steven’s station, where he’s already plugged in and typing away. 

Ryan just grabs his keys, and leaves, heading to lunch by himself, if only to cool off so he doesn't make a fool out of himself. 

When he gets back, the annoyance settles in, like it’s become a part of him, when he sees Steven sitting at _his_ desk, in _his_ chair. He’s hunched over, talking to Shane and Shane looks like he’s hanging onto every word. 

It’s gross and Ryan hates it, and he doesn’t know what to do with the boiling overflow of emotions he’s feeling. So instead of facing them, he just turns around and leaves. 

And, look, he knows he isn’t any better, just skipping off just because he’s _angry_ , but whatever.

Ryan walks a couple laps around the building, letting the sun beat down against his back, gripping his keys in his hand. He tries to push it all out of his mind, but he _can’t_. He feels too much all the time and God, how he wishes he could have a lever to his brain just to shut it all off. 

It would certainly make things easier, he thinks. 

Ryan doesn’t want to begrudge their friendship—after all, he supports it, supports them—but it feels a bit like it came out of nowhere. Shane never tried this hard before. Is he so mad at Ryan that he’s gone and replaced him? 

It feels a little like that’s what’s happened. 

When his phone buzzes in his pocket, he fishes it out. It’s a text from Shane.

_What are you doing? You’ve made it  
around the building four times already._

Ryan isn’t on the side of the building that houses their office, so he doesn’t bother looking up to see if he can see Shane watching him, but he does pocket his phone without answering. 

Eventually, he does make it back up, and by then, Steven’s gone back to his own desk, and Shane’s back to work. Ryan grabs his laptop from his bag and settles on the couch instead, working steadily there, where he doesn’t feel compelled to look over at Shane every thirty seconds. 

This time, he doesn’t bother asking Shane anything at all, doesn’t even really acknowledge Steven when he says goodbye. Ryan just stays on the couch, his laptop perched on his lap and continues working. 

He doesn’t leave until the cleaning crew comes in. 

-:-

On Saturday night, he’s hanging out with TJ and Devon in a bar in celebration of the start of filming for the new Unsolved season. Ryan had extended the invitation to Shane, but of course, Shane couldn’t make it because he’s, of course, hanging out with, _of course_ , Steven. 

They’re in an old familiar haunt, and Ryan forces himself to put Shane out of his mind so he can have a good time. After a beer, and then another, it works. 

TJ shares baby pictures of his adorable son. Devon talks about her new boyfriend, who seems like a sweet guy, and both Ryan and TJ cajole her to bring him out one of these nights so they can meet him. 

After sitting becomes stale and a dartboard becomes free, the three of them take turns playing, slow for drinking but overloaded on laughter. Ryan has missed them something fierce, and he hates that they aren’t a constant like they used to be, friendly faces across the office—in Devon’s case at least. TJ can be real dark, scary when he wants to be, but he’s just as fun as the rest of them. 

Between the three of them, they amble down the LA sidewalks to a pizza joint that’s open late, putting away two large pizzas like animals. Devon teases Ryan for the sauce he gets on his face, and Ryan throws a mushroom at her. 

Just like old times. 

By the time he gets home half past midnight, he’s only a little tipsy, just a step passed buzzed, feeling high on good emotions and exhausted from the long day. 

The house is empty again, so there isn’t anyone to greet as he makes his way to his bedroom to shower the bar off and get into bed. 

When he gets out of the shower, there are two missed calls lighting up his screen. 

They’re both from Shane, and Ryan is petty enough to let them sit there, and to ignore the third call that comes through as he’s getting dressed. He watches his phone light up with a missed call notification as he tugs a shirt over his head, and then subsequently a text message. And then another, and another. 

Interest piqued, Ryan looks at them. 

_Ryan?_

_Stop ignoring me and open your front door._

_Please._

Ryan can tell the _please_ was an afterthought, and he rolls his eyes. And despite him wanting to just continue to ignore Shane, he makes his way downstairs and unlocks the front door. 

Shane looks tired, hair a mess, dressed in rumpled flannel and his usual pants. He just stands there and looks at Ryan, haloed by the porch light. 

All of Ryan’s pettiness leaks out of him, and it’s replaced with that familiar knot of concern. 

“What are you doing here? It’s like one in the morning,” Ryan asks.

“Which is why I didn’t ring the doorbell, even though there’s no one else here,” Shane says. Ryan gives him a look—how would he even know that?

Before he can question it, because he hasn’t been weird enough for the last week, Shane steps in close and closes his arms around Ryan’s body. And Ryan, an idiot who can’t hold a grudge to save his life, goes all too willingly, suffocating himself in the woodsy smell of Shane’s chest. 

“Can I stay the night?” Shane whispers into Ryan’s hair, breathing in deep. Ryan can feel the expansion of Shane’s ribcage as he holds him.

“Seems like you were expecting to,” Ryan murmurs, but he untangles himself from Shane’s hold so Shane can properly step through the front door. Ryan closes and locks it. 

It’s unceremonious the way they climb the stairs to Ryan’s bedroom. Ryan settles under his bedsheets and watches as Shane kicks off his boots and socks, peeling off his flannel so he’s just left in his undershirt, and then he starts on his pants, popping the button and lowering the zipper. 

Ryan’s heart kickstarts in his chest. 

Shane looks at him, meeting his eyes. “Do you want me to keep them on?” 

Ryan shakes his head, so Shane takes them off and climbs into bed. 

Lying on his back, Shane blankets him with the kind of body heat that would be concerning, but Ryan shivers like he’s cold. It should be uncomfortable, but it isn’t, not anymore, not when he wants to be smothered by it. 

Shane slips a leg between Ryan’s thighs and Ryan’s arm comes around Shane’s shoulder, pressing his hand between Shane’s shoulder blades. He doesn’t know why he wants to be so tangled up in Shane, but he does. He’s even a little desperate for it, fingers gripping into the back of Shane’s T-shirt.

So, he allows it to happen. Shane buries his face in Ryan’s neck, the scratch of his stubble sparking heat. 

It’s enough for right now. 

-:-

In the morning, Ryan wakes up to an empty bed and holds out hope that Shane’s in the bathroom or the kitchen. It flickers away when all that greets Ryan is an empty house. 

He spends the day home in pajamas and bed hair. He makes coffee and toast, setting his laptop and notebook on the counter. 

What he’s got so far written in a notebook:

  * body temperature is through the roof
  * eats at least three times (!!!) as much as he used to 
  * irritable and cranky
  * won’t let me see the bite mark
  * went for a run the day after he acquired the bite mark
  * Shane and Steven are attached at the hip
  * Shane is a dumbass and I hate him



He scratches the last one out, dropping his pen to the counter. Ryan forces himself to think logically. He doesn’t actually know how hot Shane is running. It could be perfectly normal and Ryan is just—overwhelmed by the sudden proximity and all the nights they seem to spend together. 

Shane eating could just be one of those things where—

He doesn’t actually have a proper answer for that one. He’ll circle back. 

Irritation and crankiness can be caused by numerous things; with Unsolved coming back, maybe he’s stressed since they basically have a double-load of work. Shane likes the show, but he isn’t fond of most of Ryan’s picks. This season, he’s got a healthy mix of asylums, sanitariums, penitentiaries, houses, an old school, and a church. There are a couple desk episodes, but it’s nothing Shane hasn’t seen before, and only three of them are overnight locations. The rest of them, they get to stay in a modest hotel. Shane is going to love it.

So, that can’t be it. 

Shane not letting him see the wound, though. That’s something. That’s a big something. Because there’s no reason for Shane to act like this about a wound Ryan’s already seen. And if it had gotten infected, Shane would be in ridiculous pain—and for the most part, Shane’s looked and acted about as healthy as they come these days. The only thing Ryan can truly think of is that maybe Shane’s hiding the fact that it’s not there anymore. 

Which is slightly startling, but Ryan laughs. Because that—that can’t be, right? All the forums say that a bite mark will leave some sort of scar, but it would’ve healed nearly instantaneously. Maybe that’s what it is. Maybe it’s all healed, and it’s not supposed to be. Not yet, at least. The flesh should still be tender and bruised. 

And what’s with Steven and Shane, huh? What are they _doing_ that they’re missing half days of work under the guise of meeting for long breakfasts? That doesn’t even make sense. 

Truth be told, it’s annoying more than anything, only because Ryan isn’t _included_. And it sucks to admit, that for whatever reason, Shane’s blown him off all week, until last night at one in the morning like some booty call. 

And every time they try to talk about the stupid kiss, they backtrack or end up fighting. Ryan just wants to talk about it, so he can tell Shane he wants it all. Wants _everything_ , wants his giant head and stupidly long limbs, and the dumb way he only knows how to introduce himself German and that he eats cereal with ice in his milk. He wants his dark whiskey eyes and sneaky smiles, and the way he says Ryan’s name _that_ way, like he’s too fond to truly be exasperated. He wants the nights they spend to include a lot less sleep, a lot more touching, for Ryan to be as hot as Shane underneath the cover of his bedsheets. 

Underneath the last scratched out bullet point, Ryan writes: 

  * Shane’s a dumbass and I love him



-:-

It’s not that Ryan is _waiting_ , but he does stall going to bed. Roommates have tucked themselves away in bedrooms, and it’s half past midnight. Ryan lays in the dark, awake but tired, looking at his phone every thirty seconds when he feels the phantom buzz of a notification. 

Nothing comes through until he’s just on the cusp of sleep around two. 

_Can you let me in?_

Ryan sighs, but he gets out of bed and quietly pads down the staircase and locks the door when Shane’s inside.

This time, Ryan leads him by the hand, fingers clasped, closing his bedroom door behind them. Ryan gets into bed, but just like the night before, Shane dresses down and then crawls into bed beside Ryan. Ryan seeks him out underneath the bed sheets, wraps himself around Shane, and promptly falls asleep.

Shane’s gone in the morning again. 

-:-

It’s a week packed with Unsolved. They film at their desk in Ghoul HQ, and it’s easy, like they never left. It’s nice to see familiar faces and fall back into old habits. He’s hugged everyone he’s walked by since arriving at the building. His heart is warm and full, nostalgia hitting him right in the chest. Fuck BuzzFeed, but the people? He misses them like nothing else. 

When he makes it back to the desk on set, Shane’s sitting there with his phone in one hand and a coffee mug in the other, eyes striking behind his clear-framed glasses when he looks up at Ryan. He watches as Ryan rounds the desk and sits in his chair. 

Then Shane leans in. 

And _sniffs_. 

“Okay—what the fuck?” Ryan says, pushing away from the desk. Ryan stares at Shane, eyes wide, wholly confused. 

“What?” Shane asks incredibly innocently, enough that it sparks that anger Ryan’s so used to feeling these days. It burns hot in his chest that Shane can just look at him and think his behavior is _normal_. 

“You just sniffed me. What is _wrong_ with you?” 

Shane shrugs, setting down his coffee mug. “You stink.” 

“ _What_?” 

“You just—you smell like a lot right now.” Shane has the audacity to scrunch up his nose, like it explains everything. Ryan is so tired. He’s so tired of this.

“A lot?” He lifts the collar of his T-shirt and smells his detergent. It’s a freshly washed shirt and he hadn’t even worn cologne today. “I don’t smell like—” 

After rooting through his bag, Shane shoves a shirt at him, a shirt that’s very clearly one of his own. “Please, can you just—go change.” 

“ _Shane_ , what—what is wrong with you?” Ryan pushes Shane’s hand away.

“ _Nothing_ ,” Shane hisses. “Just put the shirt on.” He tosses the shirt on the desk in front of Ryan, over the manila folder of Ryan’s notes.

“I can’t _fucking_ believe you.” Ryan stands up from his chair and rips off his T-shirt, his perfectly fine, _clean_ shirt, and yanks the shirt Shane had given him over his head. It’s nothing noteworthy, just the white LA shirt they continue to trade off. 

The look on Shane’s face when Ryan presents himself to Shane makes Ryan’s belly _flood_ with heat, his breath sticky in his throat. Shane’s eyes grow so dark Ryan swears they’re black. “Shane?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Is this better?” Ryan says through clenched teeth, ignoring the sudden wave of arousal, leaning into his anger.

“Yeah.” Shane takes him up and down with his eyes, clearing his throat. 

“Are you going to explain what this is about?” 

“I _told_ you what it was about.” 

“This is...you’re acting—” _possessive._ Ryan doesn’t say it, but the word burns the tip of his tongue. And it isn’t at all like Shane has _anything_ to be possessive of, considering they’re not official in any capacity other than friends. And yet, all Ryan would like to cordially invite Shane to push him down onto the desk and— 

Shane stands up from his seat and looks Ryan square in the eye. There’s something dangerous about it, but Ryan’s so mad he doesn’t care. 

“Acting what?” Shane presses, waving his hands in front of him. He licks his lips and Ryan watches with rapt attention. “How am I acting, Ryan? Tell me.” 

“Why? So, you can run off the second I say something you don’t like? Because you’ve been ditching me only to call at two in the morning so you can sleep in my fucking bed—” Ryan groans, rubbing his palms over his face. “And now, you make me change my shirt because you don’t _like the way I smell_?” 

Shane’s jaw clenches. “Yeah, so?” 

“This would be easier to deal with if we were fucking,” Ryan hisses at him. “But we’re not, so I don’t even know why I’m _entertaining_ your behavior.”

“I asked you what you wanted!” Shane yells. “I asked you and you still haven’t told me. I can’t read your fuckin’ mind, Ryan.” 

“I’m not asking you to read my mind, Shane!”

“And _still_ , you won’t tell me what you fucking want.” 

“You!” Ryan throws the shirt he’d been wearing at Shane’s chest. “I want you!” 

There’s a silent beat as Shane catches the shirt with his hands against his chest. 

Ryan’s heart skips several beats as silence bleeds between them. Color rises in Shane's neck, on his cheeks as he visibly deflates. Ryan feels his stomach drop. 

“I...I can’t give you that right now,” Shane says, so softly. 

“Then _why_ ask at all, Shane? If you—since—“ Ryan takes a deep breath and a wobbly step backwards, closing his eyes for a second as he leans a palm on the corner of the desk. When he opens them, Shane is looking at him, his lips downturned, brows furrowed. Ryan feels too open, too raw for this moment, like it’s all too much to deal with. 

“I’m sorry.” Shane looks down, somewhere towards the ground, and Ryan pretends like he’s okay when he sits in his chair, wiping his hands on his jeans.

“It’s fine,” Ryan says, picking up his discarded shirt when Shane leaves it on the desk. He watches as Shane rounds the desk and leaves the set. 

-:-

It’s an hour or so before they film, before anyone can find Shane. The crew gripes, considering it only makes their day longer, but Shane finally comes back to set, face like stone. 

“We can put this away for now,” Ryan says with practiced ease, if only because he’s been telling himself the same thing for the last hour. “We can deal with it later.”

“Yeah, okay,” Shane says, his voice gentle, and he takes a deep breath, giving Ryan a small smile. Ryan looks away, towards the crew. 

“Okay, we’re ready.” 

-:-

They film a desk episode, and it’s hard, but they manage, talking over each other and making jokes, even though Ryan doesn’t want to look at Shane. 

At night, Ryan pretends like he isn’t waiting, but Shane doesn’t come over. 

In his notebook he jots down two more notes: 

  * possessive behavior
  * smell??? — something weird about clothes



He stares at the bullet point above those two, and then sighs. 

This fuckin’ blows, but it further cements Ryan’s theory. What would happen that would make Shane take a step back from what they were so close to? 

And the _shirt_ thing? 

Ryan thinks about the shirt thing a lot. In the shower most of the time, late at night in the bed Shane used to sleep in. Sporadic times throughout the day, trying to think of anything but the way Shane had looked at him. 

A little like he wanted to _eat_ Ryan. It was as terrifying as it was thrilling. 

And for some reason, unbeknownst to Ryan, he couldn’t have any of it. Nothing. He was cut off, cold turkey, and Ryan couldn’t handle it. Not really. 

-:-

The week meanders on, and Ryan really only sees Shane at the Watcher office, Ghoul HQ, or in the back of a car, or at his side on an airplane. Which means _everywhere_. There isn't much space between them, and it aches when Shane looks at him with fond eyes and tired smiles, like old times. Ryan figures they’d bounce back eventually. They’re doing a great job with filming, but after—after just doesn’t hold the same shiny glimmer of being _stupid_ with his best friend. 

At the Watcher office, when they aren’t filming with Unsolved, Ryan takes to sitting on the couch more often than not. It’s uncomfortable, but he’s productive. Shane and Steven continue to show up after twelve every day, and Ryan tries to ignore it, but it settles like acid in his stomach when they stroll in with easy smiles. 

At the end of the day, Ryan just goes home, not even glancing at Shane or Steven before he goes. 

Ryan spends the weekend in the office, working through Watcher content and Unsolved scripts, researching and cutting videos, until he’s too tired to blink. He drives home and drops into bed fully dressed. There’s a thought in the back of his head some nights, that Shane will text him and ask him to let him in. 

He doesn’t.

Ryan has the red-eyes nightmare both nights, and he always wakes up thinking about that night at the cabin, dripping sweat and breathing hard. His mind drifts to Shane, always Shane, and it keeps him on a serrated edge, too raw to emotionally handle life most days. He’s become snippy and sleep deprived, reliant on coffee to get him through his days. 

On Tuesday, just a week after Ryan and Shane’s debacle on the Unsolved set, Steven comes and finds Ryan while he’s in the supply closet in the Watcher office looking for sticky notes. 

“Hey,” Steven says, hands in his pockets. His features are soft when Ryan turns to look at him, but Ryan turns back around, shuffling through shelves, looking through boxes of supplies, just for something to do. 

“Hey,” Ryan says back. 

“Are you okay?” Steven asks. 

Ryan shrugs his shoulders, eventually just standing in front of the shelves, staring at reams of printer paper. 

“You seem—I don’t know. You’re mad.” 

“I’m fuckin’ livid, Steven, but I really don’t feel like talking about it.” Ryan turns around and leans back against the shelves, thumbing through the book of sticky notes, unwilling to look Steven in the eyes. 

“You’re kind of bringing down the office vibes.” 

“ _I’m_ —” Ryan cuts himself off. “I’m not doing anything. I’m just trying to _work_. But I have these two _coworkers_ who seem to think it’s _okay_ to just come in whenever they want. I don’t care what you and Shane are doing but keep it outside of the workday. I already told Shane, and I don’t want to have to repeat myself a third time.” Ryan brushes past Steven, but Steven grabs Ryan’s arm. 

Surprised, Ryan twists out of his grip. “Dude,” Ryan says. “What the fuck are you doing?” 

“Cut Shane a break, okay? He’s really stressed out right now.” Steven doesn't look _menacing_ , but he doesn’t exactly look nice. There’s something dark about his eyes; gone is the usual ease, replaced by that same dangerous look that Shane’s adopted as of late. 

“We’re all stressed! He isn’t special!” Ryan exhales through his nose. “I’m—I don’t care, Steven. I need to finish my—” Ryan doesn’t finish what he’s saying, but his heart is beating fast and he feels like he’s getting a headache. All he’d wanted were sticky notes, not some weird half-hostile heart-to-heart. 

“Ryan—calm down,” Steven says gently. 

“No. I’m not going to calm down. You guys are acting weird and Shane—” Ryan shakes his head. “I said I didn’t care, and I don’t. Just leave me alone.” Ryan turns to walk away, and this time, he makes it back to the couch, feeling the burn of someone watching him. When he turns around, several pairs of eyes look away from him. 

It’s wholly unfair that he’s the one that seems to be crazy when it’s everyone else around him. 

Ryan grabs his computer and his bag, leaving the book of sticky notes on the couch, and leaves. 

-:-

The next morning, Ryan is still mad, but he makes it to the airport and meets Devon, TJ, and Mark. Shane—for whatever reason, misses his flight. It worries Devon, and it should worry Ryan, but Ryan’s emotions get the best of him, and he’s glad for the space to breathe. 

When they land, the four of them make it to the motel they’d booked, settling into their rooms. Of course, all the arrangements had been made when Shane and Ryan were on much better terms, so Ryan bristles when Shane unlocks the door to their shared room four hours after Ryan had checked in.

Ryan keeps his attention on the screen of his computer, pulling his legs to cross them as Shane walks into the room. 

There’s a moment where Ryan’s mind falters, like he forgets to be mad when he finally does look up at Shane. He looks _tired_ , wrung out, like the flight had taken too much out of him. 

Shane sits on the edge of the bed closer to the window. Ryan watches him, fingers resting against the keyboard. 

“Did you shower?” Shane asks, twisting his body to look over at him. 

“No,” Ryan says, looking away, glancing towards the door, then back at Shane. Shane lifts his glasses up, resting them in his hair.

“Will you? You smell like an airport.” 

“No, Shane, I will not, because I don’t fucking want to and—” 

Shane’s lips pressed into a hard line. “And what?” 

“And you can’t keep treating me like this. It’s fuckin’ weird, man.” Ryan glances away from Shane to the screen of his laptop. He means to start typing but his mind is too flurried to continue.

“You—I just—Ryan. _Please_.” 

Ryan ignores him, exhaling something harsh, but his fingers still don’t move, even as he reads and rereads that last lines he’d written. 

Shane gets up and walks into the bathroom, slamming the door shut. After a few blank moments of silence, Ryan hears the water turn on. 

-:-

The night continues in tense silence. When the crew decides to go out for drinks at a local bar, Ryan all but jumps up to join. Shane doesn’t come, and Ryan does. Not. Care. 

In a booth, Ryan’s nursing a beer, Devon beside him, TJ and Mark on the opposite side. 

“So, what’s up with Shane?” TJ’s question is so clearly directed and Ryan, so Mark and Devon look at him, expecting some sort of answer. 

“Who knows,” Ryan says, sipping his drink. “Dude’s weird.” 

“Yeah, but like, weirder than usual. He’s not even— _Shane_. Shane’s a pretty happy guy, usually,” Devon offers. Mark doesn't say anything, but he seems to agree when Ryan looks at him and he shrugs his shoulders. 

“Well, I don’t know. Can we not talk about him right now?” Ryan pleads. 

“Are you guys fighting or something?” TJ presses. 

“No,” Ryan says, but his voice cracks, even on the one word, and Devon touches his arm gently. 

“What—did something happen?” She asks. When Ryan looks at her, she blinks at him, frowning. 

“ _No_.” 

“Well, that sounded like a yes,” TJ says. He looks pensive, but Ryan looks away, focusing on the label of his beer. 

“Nothing happened. We’re all just stressed. You know. Watcher, and now Unsolved is back, and—we’re just tired,” Ryan says, hoping he sounds at least half as convincing as he hopes. 

Devon hums. “You guys work too hard,” she says. 

“We all do,” TJ says. “Directing cameras ain’t no walk in the park.” 

Devon laughs, and even Mark manages a smile. Ryan still feels too sour, but he stays for another drink, and then they all head back to the motel. Mark and TJ settle into their room, but Devon hangs back. 

“You know you can talk to me, right?” she says, her tone hushed. Ryan looks at her, right into her eyes and wants to spill the whole thing. 

The night at the cabin. Shane’s weird behavior. Shane’s budding office romance with Steven. The notes in his notebook. The nights he’d come to sleep at Ryan’s. 

That night before all of this, when things had seemed so easy, when they’d been kissing and things had shifted, and amidst chaos and stress, things felt good, at peace for a little while. 

But he doesn’t. 

“I know,” he says instead, leaning in to give her a hug. She gives a surprised laugh, but she hugs him tight. “It’ll be fine.” 

When she pulls back, she gives him a soft smile, kissing his cheek. “Alright, then,” she says. “Good night, Ryan.” 

Ryan nods, and turns towards his door, pulling his keycard out from his pocket and swiping the lock. He pushes the door open, and Shane’s on his own bed, laying back against the pillows, on his phone despite the TV playing. The volume is too low for him to really be paying attention. 

Shane looks up at him with curious eyes. He scrunches his nose. “Are you going to shower now?”

“What is with your weird obsession—” 

“I’m taking that as a no,” Shane mutters, picking up a shirt from next to him. It’s a navy blue flannel, Ryan notices when Shane tosses it to him, and Ryan catches it.

And because Ryan is a lovesick fool, he strips from the T-shirt he’s wearing and pulls on the stupid flannel. For whatever reason (werewolf-y reasons, Ryan is _convinced_ ) it seems to _calm_ Shane. 

“This has to stop, Shane,” Ryan says, trying to sound firm, but he just sounds tired. Shane looks at him, but doesn’t say anything. Instead, he turns off the TV, plugs his charger into his phone and turns onto his side, facing away from Ryan. Ryan feels his body sag with defeat.

Ryan sighs, but he goes into the bathroom, brushing his teeth, and washing his face. When he finishes, the lights are off in the room, and Ryan finds his way to his bed, even though all Ryan wants to do is climb underneath the bed sheets behind Shane and burn himself on Shane’s flesh. 

-:-

They spend the day setting up for their shoot later in the night. It’s raining too hard to do anything worthwhile in town, so Ryan spends time working in bed. Shane is gone until they have to film at the penitentiary.

When they turn the spirit box on in one of the cells, Shane covers his ears with his hands, eyes shut tight. It’s a loud device, Ryan can admit but—

“You don’t have to be so dramatic,” Ryan mutters. 

“I’m not being dramatic,” Shane snaps at him, and Ryan glares at him, turning the box off. 

When it comes time for Ryan and Shane to spend time in the supposedly haunted cell block alone, Shane bristles. 

“Not—we shouldn’t do that,” he tells Ryan, hand around Ryan’s arm, a little tight right above his elbow. 

“What? Why? You love this part,” he says, gently pulling himself away from Shane. Shane’s arm drops to his side. 

“I don’t—I just don’t want to tonight.” 

“Well, that’s fine and dandy, but we have an episode to film,” Ryan says. “I can go first.” 

“I don’t want you to go at _all_ ,” Shane says. 

Ryan closes his eyes and breathes through his nose, fingers clasped tight around the flashlight. “Shane.” 

“What, Ryan? _What_?” 

Ryan looks up at Shane, letting all of his anger, his jealousy, the annoyance that’s settled inside of him the last three weeks fall away. He just stands there, knowing the cameras are on him, knowing he’s hooked up to a mic, knowing there are three other people looking at them as he just stands in front of Shane. 

“Please just tell me what’s wrong,” Ryan says, his voice soft, gentle. He’s afraid. Underneath all that bravado, underneath all the distance he’s stacked between them, Ryan is _scared_. “You’ve been acting—” 

“We’re not talking about your stupid theory, Ryan,” Shane says through gritted teeth, looking away from Ryan, off into the distance behind him. 

“It’s not _stupid_. It’s not.” 

“Guys…” TJ’s voice startles Ryan, and Ryan looks at three different faces, all with the same surprised and concerned expression. 

“I just don’t want to do the alone segment. Why is that so hard to believe? Can we just for _once_ do something I’d like to do. _Please_.” 

Ryan inhales and nods. “Okay.” 

And because that had been the last thing they were supposed to film, just like that, they’re done for the night. 

Mark and TJ go outside and film B-roll while they can, and Ryan helps Devon with sparsely placed cameras and audio recorders. Shane disappears. 

When they’re all finished with cleaning up, they pile into the van. Ryan is exhausted, and Shane is too tightly wound to talk to. When TJ parks at the hotel, they all climb out, taking various bags of equipment with them. 

Shane just walks away. And Ryan lets him. So the rest of the crew seem to let him, too, even though it’s three in the morning. 

Ryan is the one to make a second trip back to the car, and when he does, a sharp, piercing howl rents the air for a handful of seconds. 

It isn’t a confirmation of anything, but it’d be easier to explain away the coincidence if Shane had gone inside. 

-:-

When Ryan’s alarm goes off, it’s an hour to check out and Shane’s half on top of him. Ryan lets the alarm ring as he blinks his eyes, until Shane hovers over him to reach for it, turning it off and setting the phone back on the nightstand. He lays back down, still half curled around Ryan’s body. 

“Where’d you go last night?” Ryan croaks, clearing his throat. Shane doesn’t answer him, just rubs his face into Ryan’s shoulder. 

“You smell like me,” Shane says instead. Ryan doesn’t ask again, and for a little while, until Devon knocks on their door to make sure they’re awake, they just lay there. 

-:-

The flight is much too long back to LA. It’s late afternoon when they land. 

As they grab their bags, Shane looks sheepish, shoulders hunched when he turns to Ryan. 

“Can I come over?” he asks, his voice low and gentle. 

“Yeah.”

Ryan and Shane share a Lyft as the rest of the crew go their separate ways. 

-:-

At Ryan’s, they take turns showering, and Ryan orders too much food, but it all gets eaten. Ryan works while Shane fucks around on his phone. When it’s time to go to bed, Ryan settles into Shane, and Ryan tries to convince himself he didn’t miss it, he didn’t miss this laying like this with him.

“Are you okay?” Ryan asks into the dark of the room. Behind him, Shane shifts, tightening his hold around Ryan. Ryan closes his eyes when he feels the soft press of Shane’s mouth against the curve of his neck.

“Yeah,” Shane whispers. “Better.” 

Ryan doesn’t know what to do with that, but he wills himself to find sleep. 

In the morning, Shane is gone. Ryan’s too exhausted to be upset by it, just accepts it for what it is. A thing they do sometimes. It’s not enough, and it won’t be enough. And because Ryan is someone who wants things in their entirety, completely without reservation, it hurts a little when he makes up his mind to give up the little bit he has. 

-:-

At work, Shane arrives on time, and Steven’s already at his desk. Ryan settles into his chair. Shane pushes a coffee towards him. 

“It’s not—you know. It’s not enough, but I’m sorry,” Shane says softly. 

Ryan sighs. “I just wish I knew what you were sorry for.” When he looks at Shane, Shane doesn’t look at him, just at his own screen, and Ryan frowns. “Take a walk with me?” 

Shane looks at him then, like he’s weighing his decision. When Ryan stands, he follows. 

They make it outside. The skies are overcast, but the air is warm. They amble, quiet, around the building.

When Shane reaches out his hand and touches his fingers to Ryan’s, Ryan pulls away, slipping his hands into his pockets. 

“I’m so tired,” Ryan says. 

“You’re always tired.” 

“I mean of—Shane, we can’t do this anymore,” Ryan says, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk at the back of the building, looking up at Shane. Shane’s brow furrows like he’s confused. 

“Do what?” he asks. 

“You _know_ what. I don’t—you said—” Ryan takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. “You said I couldn’t have you. And I’m accepting that. I don’t know what’s going on with you or what you’re hiding, but the sleepovers have to stop. They—I can’t do this.” 

Shane purses his lips, looking everywhere else except for Ryan. Ryan looks down at the ground. 

“I don’t just want some of it,” Ryan says. “I don’t just want pieces. It’s all or nothing. And—and you said—” 

“I know what I said.” Shane’s voice is curt, cutting, but Ryan doesn’t flinch away from it, as much as he wants to. 

“We can—we’ll just do the friend thing. We can—we can still have that, right?” 

Shane looks at Ryan then, smile tight at the edges of his mouth, eyes blank, though, behind his glasses. “Of course. I’m not going anywhere.” 

“And you’re okay?” 

“Yeah, I’m okay, Ryan.”

“This is weird now, though,” Ryan admits. 

“It’s probably always going to be weird when we want something with each other we can’t really have,” Shane reasons. Shane adjusts his glasses, setting his hands on his hips. 

“But _why_?” Ryan presses. “Why can’t we? If we want it, shouldn’t we just—we can just _do_ it.” 

Shane snickers and it makes Ryan smile, even though he doesn’t want to be smiling.

“Not what I meant, a-hole,” Ryan mutters. 

“You said it, not me.” 

“My question still stands. Do you have an explanation?” Ryan steps forward, not quite closing the space between them, but standing close enough that he pulls a hand from his pocket and flicks a fingertip over a button on Shane’s white button up. 

“I don’t,” Shane says, taking Ryan’s hand in his. “But I can say that I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“Who’s saying you’re going to?” Ryan shifts their hands so their fingers clasp. 

“No one—” 

“Then?” 

“It’s just—we _can’t_.” Shane’s fingers tighten around his own. 

Ryan shakes his head. 

“Okay,” Ryan says. “Okay.”

They stand there, holding hands and looking at each other for just a moment, until they let each other go, and turn back towards the building. 

Ryan feels out of sorts, kind of empty, but there’s a weight that slides off his shoulders, feeling much lighter than he has in a while. 

Instead of settling down to work, he walks up to Steven’s desk and leans a hip against it. Steven looks up at him. 

“Yes?” Steven says carefully, tugging on one of the strings of his dark green hoodie. He looks surprised to see Ryan, eyebrows raised. 

“I’m sorry. For the other day. In the closet,” Ryan says. He runs his fingers through his hair. 

“‘S all good,” Steven says much too easily, but Ryan nods. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. You’re right. We’re all stressed, and honestly, Shane and I were wrong for just ditching work. So, sorry for that, too.” Steven gives him a tentative smile. 

“All good. Water under the bridge.” Ryan knocks on the desk twice, and turns away, heading back towards his desk. 

The office seems to let out a hefty breath of relief. 

Nothing makes sense, Ryan thinks, but he’s somewhat at peace with it. 

-:-

The weekend is spent decompressing. He doesn’t allow himself to work on _anything,_ only indulging in favorites. Ryan goes to Disneyland with his roommates on Saturday. He spends the entire day on rides and watching shows and waiting in long lines, bumping into tourists and taking silly photos and drinking overpriced beer before taking pictures with characters. He’s exhausted enough that by the time he heads home, he doesn’t even mind the cold shower since his roommates have hogged all the hot water. 

On Sunday, he goes to the gym in the morning, then gets dressed and heads to Knott’s. He overloads himself on the thrill of roller coasters and boysenberry treats and grabs Taco Bell on his way home. He doesn’t make it to nine before he crashes, falling face first into his bed. 

-:-

What Ryan doesn’t expect is how normal everything seems to become. They film and edit content for Watcher, continue to film for Unsolved, and things go back to a level of stress Ryan is used to. It’s almost _boring_ how mundane things are. 

As the end of June approaches, Ryan gets used to Shane’s odd behavior, doesn’t glare so much at Steven when Shane declines Ryan’s lunch invitations in favor of hanging out with Steven instead. (Okay, he glares a little bit.) They seem to find an old, familiar rhythm, like driving down a back road, convinced he can drive it with his eyes closed. 

They joke and it’s easier, Ryan laughs and feels lighter, Shane smiles and seems like his old self. Ryan feels somewhat like he’s crossed a finish line in a race he hadn’t known he’d been participating in. He feels good—enough that he gets up early in the morning and goes to the gym, jumpstarting his day with endorphins. 

When he sits at his desk, Shane smiles at him, pushing coffee towards him. Ryan takes it gratefully, offering a gentle smile in return. 

By the time Friday rolls around, he’s tired, but it’s a lot _less_ now, just the normal, day to day exhaustion he feels from working seventy hour weeks. 

After work, he hangs out at a bar with his roommates, tossing back a couple of drinks.

At the end of the night, he takes a Lyft home and double checks he’s got everything packed for the next day. Another on location shoot for Unsolved. 

It creeps in the back of his mind that it’s a full moon, but Ryan ignores it, because it doesn't seem applicable anymore. 

-:-

When the flight lands, Ryan, Shane, and the crew grab their rental and drive straight to the off-brand Sallie House, Ryan’s demon sacrifice for the season. There’s a forest surrounding the home, and Ryan’s spine tingles, limbs heavy with the weight of dread, even though it’s two in the afternoon.

They busy themselves setting up equipment, tripods and static cameras around the house, staying for a while to interview the homeowner, Angela, who’s long since moved out of the house. 

Mark mans the camera and TJ and Devon hang back as the conversation flows. Shane is mostly quiet as they sit on the couch and chat, even when Angela claims some outlandish occurrences that would usually have Shane laughing or challenging. But nothing comes and Ryan carries the conversation.

After about an hour, they check into their hotel nearby. 

Ryan heads directly for the shower to wash the morning off and when he emerges, Shane isn’t in the room with him. He doesn’t come back until it’s almost time for the shoot, just a half an hour after Ryan’s woken up from a nap. 

Shane looks pale, peaky, somewhat feverish.

“Whoa,” Ryan says, watching as Shane crosses the room. He gets up from the bed, reaching out to touch Shane’s arm. Shane gently tugs away. “Shane—”

“I’m fine,” he says, “I’m just going to shower and get ready.”

“Are you feeling okay?” Ryan asks. 

“I said I’m fine, Ryan.” Shane’s voice is too rough for Ryan to believe him. Ryan tenses, hoping this won’t bleed into the night, into shooting the episode. He watches, concerned, as Shane grabs clothes from his suitcase and retreats into the bathroom, shutting the door harder than necessary. 

Since there isn’t anything he can do, he settles back onto his bed and tries to pay attention to the TV, but it’s all white noise now, his brain mulling over ideations and theories and the notes in his notebook. It seems so silly to fall back on those thoughts after such a good week, but it’s so easy to. 

It’s not long until Shane comes out of the bathroom, looking clean and fresh, better, but not by much. Ryan doesn’t press him for questions. 

They putter about until it’s time to go. 

-:-

The moon sits bright in the sky, surrounded by the delicate twinkle of starlight that casts a silvery glow over the tree canopies. A gentle breeze rustles through the treetops, blowing through the bushes and shaking branches so the sound of scratching leaves permeates the air. It smells fresh, clean from the river that cuts through the forest, juxtaposed against the dilapidated, musty house they’re visiting.

It reminds him of the night at the cabin. They don’t have to do any traipsing in the woods tonight, and since this is an overnight, he figures he can get away with inching himself closer to Shane when he inevitably freaks the fuck out as they lay in bed. 

Shane’s attitude, though, only worsens as the night goes on. 

The night plays out like normal; they’ve already come to set up the cameras and audio recorders earlier in the day, so now it’s just unfurling the episode as Ryan tells the story of a demon-infested house as they walk slowly through the living room. Ryan can barely move without feeling like Shane is right on top of him. It’s TJ that pipes up. 

“Shane, if you stand any closer to Ryan, he’ll have to carry you.”

Devon laughs, but Ryan can feel the tension thick in the air. If he reaches out a hand, he’d be able to touch it. Shane steps away, leaving ample space between their bodies. That feverish look has returned, and Ryan almost wants to set his hand on Shane’s forehead and check his temperature. He ignores the urge and continues his narration.

“This is where Angela felt the scratches on her back. We’re right above the basement,” Ryan explains. 

“Did they get anything on camera?” 

Ryan shakes his head. “No, just pictures afterwards.” 

“Probably wasn’t a demon, then,” Shane mutters. 

Ryan frowns. “We should go down to the basement. Aside from the room we’re sleeping in, Angela says that’s where the most activity has happened.” 

Shane grunts, but doesn’t offer anything else, and annoyance prickles at Ryan’s collar. 

In the basement, they fiddle with some flashlights, and where Shane would cajole and coax the demon to come play, he barely does much in terms of it. 

“Come on demon. I’m ready to throw down if you are.”

“Throw down? You’re gonna throw down with a demon?” Ryan says, smiling. 

Shane keeps his features blank, adjusts his glasses with the back of his hand. “Doesn’t look like it.” 

“Shane—” 

“It’s not _real_ , Ryan,” he grits out. “None of it’s real. If it were real, you’d have been sacrificed the second we came through the door.” 

“Dormant demon, maybe—” 

“Nonexistent demon, more like. We’re just standing here, talking to _air._ ” 

Ryan presses his mouth into a line. “Why don’t you go upstairs, and I’ll stay down—” 

“ _No_.” 

“Shane, we’re not _doing_ this again. We have to film—” 

“I said no, Ryan.” Shane looks at him, something fierce in his eyes behind his glasses. 

“This is going to be the _most_ boring episode.” 

“Then it’s boring,” Shane says, shrugging. “I’m not leaving you down here.” 

There’s a sense of relief that washes through Ryan, because _no_ , he doesn't want to be left alone down here, talking with a demon, but in the very same vein, Ryan doesn't like the way Shane is just _ruining_ the filming. 

Neither of them stay in the basement alone. Shane stomps up the stairs back to the main floor. Ryan looks behind him and sees Devon, catches the confused look on her face before returning his attention back in front of him. 

In the kitchen, Ryan begins to tell a story, but Shane cuts him off. 

“Fuck, I can’t—” Shane says from behind him, leaning against a wall, groaning with his head in his hands. 

“Dude, are you good? You look like baggage claim hot dogs times two,” Ryan says, stepping in close, touching his hand to Shane’s wrist, coaxing Shane to look at him. He does, and Ryan swears Shane’s eyes flicker with an unfamiliar light. Golden instead of the dark whiskey brown he’s so, so used to. When Ryan tries to look closer, Shane won’t look at him, eyes downcast. Ryan’s heartbeat picks up, and he feels a thrill of adrenaline pour through him. 

“Do you think we have enough for the night?” Shane asks, his voice terse, eyes closed. “I need—” 

“We have enough, I’m pretty sure.” Ryan looks at the crew and then back to Shane. 

They don’t have near what they usually do, and Ryan’s going to have to make up what he wasn’t able to tell with VO, and that’s shitty. But with the way Shane’s looking, fighting about it isn’t going to get them anywhere. 

“There’s bound to be something good to scrape together.” Ryan takes Shane’s hand, throwing all caution to the wind. “Do you need to lay down?” 

Shane nods. 

They end up calling it a night and Shane heads upstairs. He brushes past Ryan to where they’ll be sleeping. Ryan watches him all but run up the staircase, footsteps loud and echoing in the house. Ryan has the invasive thought that Shane might knock the demon loose with how the house shakes from the heaviness of his footfall.

“He really doesn’t look good at all,” Devon says, sidling up close to Ryan as Ryan unstraps himself from his equipment. “Should we take him back to the hotel?” She looks worried, brow creased, and lips pursed.

“No, he’ll be fine,” Ryan says, hurrying to ease her concern. “Besides, I can’t sleep here alone. Better shitty footage than no footage.” 

Devon cracks a smile. “That’s a little selfish, Ryan,” she says, breathing out her laugh. “But call us if you need to, okay? I don’t—he’s been all kinds of out of sorts lately.” 

“Hasn’t he, though?” Ryan wonders aloud. “He probably just needs to sleep off whatever he’s feeling.” 

“Like I said, just call us. The hotel is only a couple miles away,” she reassures him. She gives him a long assessing look, close and careful. Ryan feels scrutinized, accosted by her inquisitive gaze. 

“I will, cross my heart,” Ryan promises. He sees them out, and when they’ve driven away, he goes upstairs to meet Shane, but Shane is already making his way downstairs. He doesn’t have his glasses on, which Ryan finds weird. 

“They’re gone,” Ryan says, pausing on the staircase. 

“Good. Stay here.” 

“What?” Ryan turns and watches as Shane descends the rest of the stairs. Something tells him that the house is safer than following Shane outside. He doesn’t listen to that acidic feeling, just steps down until he reaches the main floor.

“I need to—I just need to go for a walk.” Shane yanks the door open and walks out. Ryan watches the way his body twitches, the way his fingers grasp at nothing and he keeps shutting his eyes like he’s trying so hard not to see something. 

“A walk? It’s fuckin’ one in the morning, Shane, where the hell are you walking to?” Ryan asks, stepping onto the porch, and then into the grass when Shane keeps walking. Nervous sweat gathers in his collar and his body feels hot, despite the wind that blows over him. 

“I just need some air, Ryan, please.”

“Shane—” 

“ _Ryan_ , this is you _not_ letting go,” Shane hisses, his pace quickening. “Just let it go. Please.”

“Nope. Not a fuckin’ chance.” 

The moon is so big and bright overhead. It’s not lost on Ryan that the last time they’d been in the woods, the moon was this big and bright, too. 

“Ryan, go back inside the house.” Shane stops walking and turns to look at him. It’s so abrupt that Ryan runs into Shane and Shane gets his hands on Ryan’s shoulders, like he’s holding _on_. 

“No, I’m not just going to leave you out here alone!” Ryan touches his hand to Shane’s chest, can feel his heart rioting there, a rhythm that can’t be healthy. 

“Ryan, please, I’m asking you for this one thing,” Shane pleads. His eyes flicker again, and Ryan gasps when he sees them _stay_ , a gold so luminescent they’re alight, impossibly glowing. Ryan stumbles backwards out of shanes grasp. “ _Please_ just go inside.” 

Shane falls to his knees, his palms smacking against the grass. Ryan jumps back further. 

“Shane?” Ryan whispers, looking down at him, torn between leaving and reaching out for him. Ryan just stands there instead.

“ _Go inside._ Go inside and lock the fucking door, Ryan, for the love of—” 

It’s a second and a half of time, but it feels like slow motion as Shane’s body tears apart and explodes into a mass of fur, heavy paws landing in the grass with loud thumps, as shreds of his clothing flutter to the ground around them. 

The fear that encapsulates Ryan is so abundant, cutting through him so deep and vicious that he stays rigid, wholly and completely still as he _watches_ , his stomach dropping out, his heart beating so fast in his chest. He can feel the wolf’s growl through the ground under his feet, vibrating in his bones.

It’s not Shane that’s in front of him anymore, but a wolf. A wolf just over half as tall as Ryan, with glowing, golden eyes that stare at him, snarling, its menacing teeth dripping wet. Ryan screams when the wolf _howls_ , the sound piercing through the air like a gunshot. 

Without a second thought, Ryan takes off. The forest is unkind as branches whip against his skin; the damp heat of the forest sticks in his lungs. He’s so desperate to breathe, but he has to keep running. His thighs burn with the force of his steps and he tries the brace himself against the ruthless thwacks of the tree branches with his forearms. 

The wolf is _chasing_ him. 

When Ryan turns back to look, the wolf snarls, snapping its jaw, and—

It’s all he can do to cover his face as he rolls down, tripping over the edge of a hill and falling, catching branches and twigs, his body thrown against rocks and tree stumps by momentum. The fear of being chased is drowned out as soon as he hits the surface of water. 

Gasping, water fills his mouth as he tries to use his arms to get to the surface. Something is _stuck_. It’s so dark he can’t see, only the light of the moon as it bleeds into the surface of the water. Through panic, his vision starts to blur. The water dulls his momentum so he can’t yank himself free from whatever he’s caught on. He tries to slither out of his pants, but they’re too tight—he can’t get his legs out.

When his lungs start to burn, and he’s so scared he can’t hold his breath anymore, he closes his eyes and gives into the desperate need to inhale. 

-:-

Water spews from his mouth and he inhales sharp and gasping. When he looks up, there are paws on his chest that immediately pull away, and the glowing golden eyes of the wolf as he retreats. 

Ryan rolls over, throwing up water and whatever he’d eaten earlier. His stomach clenches, but he can’t stop heaving, pain rocking through his limbs when he tries to breathe. His lungs are on fire and his throat is raw. 

And still—

“I knew it! I fucking knew it!” Ryan wheezes between coughs. “I—” Another round of wet coughs seize his chest. 

The wolf keeps his distance, lying on the embankment, his nose against his paws. Ryan sits up, breathing hard, clutching his knees to his chest. The wolf moves then, and Ryan scrambles back. 

The wolf whimpers, but it lays back on his paws. 

Ryan looks at the wolf, at those eyes he knows so well, lit so bright even in the dark of the forest. He shouldn’t be scared, but his heart is beating out of his chest.

“Why—why didn’t you say anything to me? Why did you—you called me _crazy_ ,” Ryan whispers, suddenly overcome by an aching wave of hurt. “Why didn’t you trust me?” 

The wolf’s eyes close. Ryan leans his forehead on the knees of his soaking wet jeans, trying to ignore the way his eyes prickle, damp. The wolf stands, shaking off his coat and motioning Ryan to follow him with a nod of his head. 

The walk is silent through the woods as the wolf— _Shane_ leads the way. Ryan keeps watch of where he’s going, until they emerge from the dense woods and Shane leads Ryan all the way to the front door. 

Ryan doesn’t look behind him as he walks inside. 

As Ryan climbs the stairs, a howl rings through the night, and Ryan shivers in his soaking wet clothes.

-:-

There isn’t a working shower in the house they’re staying in, so all Ryan can do is peel off his clothing and change into his pajamas, leaving them to hang in the bathroom to dry.

For once, worry and anger for Shane blooms too hot inside of him for Ryan to be frightened of the demon that no doubt haunts the house. 

It’ll ruin the episode, but he can’t sleep properly without knowing Shane’s okay, without Shane in the house with him, so he turns the camera off and turns the bedroom light on, sitting in the middle of the bed, clutching his service-less cell phone in his hand. He stares out of the window, watching, _waiting_ for something.

-:-

When he wakes up, morning light has barely colored the sky grey. The wolf lays at the end of the bed, right where his feet are, with his eyes closed. Ryan stares openly at the giant animal that seems so gentle, harmless this close. It _should_ be frightening, but it isn’t now. He knows, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that he’s safe, despite what happened the night before. He just _knows_. 

Slowly, Ryan crawls over the blankets, careful not to jostle the bed, and kneels in front of Shane. He reaches out a hand and settles it over Shane’s coat, running his fingers through fur so soft it reminds him of the few times he’s ever touched snow. 

The wolf’s eyes blink open, looking at Ryan, his golden gaze like liquid warmth as he growls low and menacing. Ryan catches his fingers behind Shane’s ear and scratches. 

The growling stops. 

“You can't stay a wolf forever,'' Ryan coaxes, his voice rough and raw. “We have to talk about this.” 

The wolf huffs, but he jumps off the bed. Ryan doesn’t watch the transformation happen, closing his eyes instead. The noises make him wince, and curiosity burns, but he keeps his eyes closed, bowing in on himself as he draws his knees to his chest. 

When the bed dips, Ryan opens his eyes to see Shane sitting on the edge, blankets neatly covering his lap. Shane doesn’t look at him, and Ryan feels his heart sink in his chest. Here, though, in the slight light of the morning, he can see Shane’s flesh, his chest, his stomach, the deep scar that slices through his side. Ryan resists the urge to reach out and trace it. 

“Talk to me, Shane, please,” Ryan whispers, his voice still so rough. “I’m going out of my mind here.”

“I didn’t want you to be scared of me,” Shane whispers.

“It was impossible not to be, Shane. I didn’t—I didn’t mean to be scared.” Ryan sucks in a breath. “You have to know that was the scariest thing I’ve ever seen. I mean, this whole time, I _thought_ , but actually knowing it? Seeing it?”

“I know,” Shane says. He looks at Ryan with soft eyes, that familiar brown he knows. “I know. You know I care about you, right? You know you’re the single most important person in my _life_. How could I—how could _we_ —when I’m _this_?”

“Then explain it to me,” Ryan pleads. “What happened to you?” 

Shane looks Ryan square in the eye and then away. “We were in the woods. And you made a joke about not knowing where we were going, and all of a sudden, I’m like—I don’t know. Just _taken_ , dragged away. I just remember so much pain, and hearing you call out, and—I couldn’t say anything like, like the wind was knocked out of me or something. I didn’t really—I couldn’t see, it was so dark, you know? But I knew. Even _I_ could—I had to admit, right? But not right away. It wasn’t immediate. 

“I woke up in the middle of the night after you fixed me up and put me to bed and I just—I could hear your _heartbeat_. I was just drawn to you. So, I just slept there, in your bed, because something made me want to be close.” 

Ryan feels that familiar warmth that blooms in his chest when they’re _here_ , circling the possibility of what they could be. 

“And then I woke up, and you were still sleeping, and I felt—I just felt so fuckin’ _good_. I checked the bandage and—fuck, Ryan—there was _nothing there but a scar_. For a second, I thought, bad dream. Bad dream because all you’ve been talking about is werewolves. But there was blood on the floor in the living room, in the bathroom, my _shirt_. I mean, it was kinda undeniable at that point. But it wasn't like I could dwell on it. I didn’t—I just had to go outside for some reason. Just—just _run_. And so, I did.”

Shane looks at Ryan. “And you wouldn’t shut up about the stupid bite mark—I just—I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” Ryan murmurs, shrugging his shoulders. “Whatever I was going through doesn’t even come close to what you—” Ryan looks away, towards the window, and hangs his head. 

“It’s okay, Ryan. I mean, you had to deal with the blood and shit.” 

Ryan cracks a smile. “Gross. It was gross. I was so freaked out.” 

“I know.” Shane sighs. “We were so close.”

“Close? Close to what?” Ryan says, swallowing thick. 

“You know what, Ryan.” Shane sighs. “I thought something was going to happen that night at the cabin.”

Ryan purses his lips. 

“Everything was going really—I don’t know. Just felt like a good night to go ahead and say a couple things.” 

“Like…what?” Ryan asks. 

“Are you afraid?” Shane asks, evading the question and Ryan lets him, shaking his head. Quiet settles for much too long, and Ryan takes a shuddery breath. 

“I was. I mean—you chased me into a river,” Ryan admits. “I was scared then.”

“I just—instinct took over. You started running and every part of me told me to follow you. I didn’t mean—you’re not hurt, are you?” 

“Physically? Sore. Some scrapes and bruises, but nothing too bad. Emotionally? I’m a fuckin’ wreck, dude.” 

Shane huffs, looking towards the window. Ryan traces the lines of Shane’s face; his brow, the slope of his nose, the tightness in his mouth, the scruffiness of his beard. His hair curls slightly at his nape, just under his ear. Ryan looks down at the comforter. 

“You lied to me. You lied to me so many times, Shane. You called me crazy—”

“I said you were _ridiculous_ , which is true,” Shane defends, but it’s weak.

Ryan sighs. “ _Shane_.”

“I know—I know. I’m sorry. I was freaking out! I thought _I_ was going crazy. I had all this energy which—you know, I never have—and then—I mean, I couldn’t admit it to myself, let alone admit it to you.” 

“So, you rather fight than tell me I was right?” Ryan picks at his pajama pants, eyes falling to his toes, glancing up at Shane to catch the pained look that mars his kind, polite features.

“No—I don’t know. I know that’s what happened, but it’s not what I meant. I just—” Shane rubs his face with his hand, slipping his fingers through his messy hair. It sticks up, and Ryan wants to cross the distance between them on the bed and smooth it out. He, of course, does not.

“Why did you tell me I couldn’t have you?” Ryan whispers. “If we were so close, why did you say that?” 

“I wasn’t ready to tell you. I didn’t want you to see any of this.” Shane waves a hand at himself. “It’s not pretty.” 

“So you were just going to hide forever?” Ryan doesn’t mean to be accusatory, but that’s what it sounds like, how it feels, carving through him with a dull knife.

“Maybe,” Shane shrugs. “I already—I _chased_ you, Ryan. You don’t understand what I wanted to _do_ to you.” 

Ryan shivers, but he holds Shane’s gaze. “I’m not afraid of you.” 

“I can tell when you lie,” Shane murmurs. “There’s a little tick in your heart. I can—I can _hear_ it. You _are_ afraid. And it’s okay that you are.” 

Ryan looks down. “I don’t mean to be.” Ryan wracks his brain for a safer topic. “So what’s with the clothes thing?”

“Hmm?” 

“You and—I don’t know. You’ve been making me wear your shit lately. And like, don’t get me wrong, I _like_ it, but I just—” 

“You know,” Shane says casually, pensively, “you smell really good.” 

“What?” Ryan extends a leg and knocks his toes into Shane’s thigh. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know if that’s the wolf, or just—you know—some sort of pheromonal hoopla, but you smell so fuckin’ good. And I can’t stand it when you smell like other people. You must have touched a hundred people that first day on the Unsolved set. I could smell them all over you. And then just being in _airports,_ I just—I—you’re _mine_ —” 

“ _Yours_?” Ryan interjects, eyebrows raising. “Excuse you, I’m the very opposite of that. You made that _very_ clear.” 

“I know, and I’m sorry about that too. I was dealing with _this—”_

“ _And_ you were spending all your time with _Steven_ —”

“Because he was teaching me!” 

Ryan’s eyebrows fly all the way up. 

“Fuck.”

“ _Teaching_ you?” 

“...Yeah. I walked into the office and he all but _tackled_ me.”

“Oh my _God_.” It was one thing Ryan had never connected. Jealousy had colored him too green to connect Shane’s relationship with Steven. In his theories, he’d been seeing Steven as a replacement for Ryan, when all Steven had been attempting to do was _help_. “Oh my God, _Shane_. Steven, too?” 

“I know—this is so much. Can we talk about it later?” 

Ryan sighs, poking Shane in the thigh with his toes again. “Yeah. But we have to _actually_ talk. You can’t dodge me anymore.” 

“Yes, yeah, okay. I promise,” Shane says sincerely, his voice quiet. Ryan shivers. 

“Can—is—is ‘us’ off the table, then?” Ryan’s eyes dip, looking over Shane’s shoulders, his neck, his mouth. 

“What—”

“You asked me what I wanted,” Ryan says. “I want you. Still.”

“Will you lay back?” Shane’s eyes shift into gold, clear and luminescent, and Ryan’s heart starts rioting, but he does as he’s asked, laying his head against the pillow, hands at his side. Shane crawls across the bed, unashamed in his nakedness. 

It’s a lot for Ryan, right off the bat, but Shane brings the blanket with him, settling in close to Ryan’s side, hovering over him just enough for it to feel dangerous as he brings the blankets over them.

Shane looks him in the eye, touches a very warm hand to Ryan’s cheek. Ryan shivers, but he stays quiet. He doesn’t know what Shane is going to do, doesn’t know if Shane is going to kiss him or touch him or push him away, or just stay here and look at him for some indeterminable amount of time. He knows Shane won’t hurt him, he knows that, but it doesn’t mean he isn’t nervous. 

“Your heart is beating so fast,” Shane whispers, and Ryan makes a face and resists the urge to hide.

“I hate this. I—stop _listening_.” 

Shane’s laugh is soft, falling away into nothing as his demeanor changes to something much more serious. “Will you, uh, take your shirt off?” Shane asks, eyes so intense. Ryan lifts his T-shirt off, dropping it over the end of the bed. 

Shane splays his hand wide over Ryan's chest; his flesh nearly burns, but all Ryan can do is keep his eyes on Shane’s face.

“The worst part is how badly I want you to smell like me. Isn't that so silly?” Shane whispers. 

“No,” Ryan whispers back. 

“Just me all over you. That’s why I made you wear my clothes. And like, I’m sorry, but—”

“Don’t be,” Ryan breathes. “I’m so—I wore it all, even when you said I couldn't have you, because I wanted you.”

“Can I—“ Shane huffs, but Ryan is nodding, keeping still, quiet, so as not to ruin whatever this is, whatever Shane wants from him or for him. Whatever Shane wants to _do_ to him. Shane leans in, and for a second Ryan thinks Shane is going to kiss him, but Shane just lifts his hand from Ryan's chest to touch Ryan's chin. He tips Ryan's head back and Ryan's heart catapults into a wild rhythm.

Shane descends, so slowly, and all Ryan does is _feel_ the way Shane noses along the curve of his shoulder, breathing in deep along the line of Ryan's throat. Ryan gasps, and Shane stays, face buried there as he breathes. Ryan feels like he's burning from the inside out, vibrating with want, some perverse need to keep Shane this close. 

When Shane pulls back his eyes are glassy, hazy, like he’s high. Ryan has no idea what’s happening, but he’s into it, and his body is very, _very_ into it. 

“Fuck,” Shane whispers. 

“What?” Ryan asks, nervous.

“I—I don't know.'' Shane closes his eyes and leans back in, and Ryan shivers underneath him; this time, Shane's fingers press into his hip, a bruising grip holding him down. Ryan doesn't mean to, but he lets out a small, startled moan just as Shane's lips press against his pulse. “You smell so good,'' Shane tells him, his voice rough and gravelly. 

“What—what do I smell like?” Ryan whispers. His hand comes up to touch Shane's chest, fingers gripping in when Shane nips at his skin. 

The vibration of Shane's hum frays his nerve endings. Ryan closes his eyes, leaning into the heat of Shane's touch. Shane pulls back, looking down at him with clear, gold irises and Ryan gasps when he looks at them, touching his hand to Shane's cheek. It's incredible, unreal, and Ryan almost can't believe he’s witnessing it. There are so many emotions that flood his chest and he feels warm from them, softened, wrung out. 

When Shane leans in this time, he’s so close Ryan's eyes cross when he tries to keep looking at him. Their noses brush and Ryan can feel Shane's breath over his lips, hot. “You smell like home,” Shane says, his voice so tender it splits Ryan open, strikes him right in the heart. 

“ _Shane_ ,” Ryan whispers, but he doesn't know what to say. He doesn't need to say anything, it seems. Shane closes the distance between their lips, pressing soft and gentle, over and over again until Ryan’s out of breath from it, until Shane is holding their bodies so close it feels like Ryan could crawl inside of Shane's ribcage and live there. 

The kiss deepens, hot and intense, and Ryan opens himself up for it, the intensity of it, the burn of Shane’s body as Shane settles on top of him. All Ryan wants to do is pull him closer, become enveloped by the wildfire heat of Shane’s chest, his limbs, burn himself with the touch of Shane's tongue. 

Settled between the inviting press of Ryan’s thighs, Shane takes Ryan’s hands and pins them to the bed, growling loudly as he kisses over Ryan's throat; he can feel the harsh drag of Shane's teeth, the damp heat of his breath. Ryan only tilts his head as far back as he can, eyes fluttering closed, and hopes Shane ruins him for all he’s worth. 

-:-

“'M sorry,” Shane mumbles. 

Ryan watches as his reflection flushes; he’s covered in hickeys. Like, _obscenely._ They start at his neck, in that hollow behind his ear and drip haphazardly down his collar, over his chest. They're on his belly, and Ryan knows from the time he spent in cleaning himself up the best he could without a shower, that there are many more underneath the cover of his underwear. 

“You're an animal,'' Ryan says, laughing. He catches Shane's gaze in the mirror. “It's _okay_ , Shane. I told you I wanted it. I'm pretty sure I begged for it at some point.” 

When Shane blinks, his eyes flicker gold and it sends a thrill vibrating through Ryan’s body. Ryan can’t imagine ever getting used to something like that.

“You did,” Shane says, his voice pitched low; it steals Ryan's breath. Ryan turns around to face him, fingers reaching out to grasp at Shane’s T-shirt so Shane will come press him up against the counter. 

“So stop apologizing, okay? I'm not a fragile little cupcake.” He looks up and drags his hand up Shane’s chest, resting it against his collar. When Ryan threads his fingers through Shane’s hair, Shane leans into the touch.

Shane snorts. “You say that, but I'm _stronger_ than you now.” 

Ryan stares up at Shane, willing himself not to allow Shane to tear him apart the way he wants Shane to so, so badly. “We need to get dressed and go.” 

Shane keeps him pinned against the counter, hands braced on either side of Ryan's hips as he noses along Ryan’s temple. Despite the fact that Ryan shivers from it, that Ryan _wants_ Shane again, Ryan puts a hand in the very center of Shane's chest and pushes him back. Shane growls, but he goes. 

“We need to leave. We have a flight to catch,” Ryan reasons. “You can mark me up all you want when we get home.” 

Shane's eyes darken, gold still so brilliant. “You promise?” 

Ryan grins. 

-:-

When they get home that Sunday night, it’s early evening. They make the decision to go back to Shane’s out of consideration for Ryan’s roommates and the guaranteed amount of privacy they’d have. 

They don’t resurface for a few days. 

Shane divulges all kinds of information over the time they spend secluded. They don’t have the spare time to, but they call in sick on the Monday and Tuesday following the full moon. 

This time, Ryan doesn’t care. 

When they aren’t rolling around in Shane’s bed (or on the floor, or in the shower, or the one time in his kitchen), Shane talks to him, like he’s getting it all off his chest. Ryan doesn’t remember ever hearing Shane talk so much outside of when he’s plastered drunk (and even then, it’s mostly just really loud singing). In that, Ryan learns some about Steven, about his heritage, about his pack in New York and parts of Asia. 

It’s early Wednesday morning when Ryan gets out of bed, tugging whatever pants he finds on the floor of Shane’s bedroom. He finds Shane in the kitchen. He’s leaning against the counter with a mug in his hand, wearing nothing but glasses and sleep pants slung low over his hips. On his way to the coffee machine, Ryan reaches out to skate his fingertips gently over Shane’s stomach, catching tugging on a string. 

“Morning,” Shane says, and Ryan hums his response, leaning up on his toes to grab a mug for himself from the highest shelf. “Do you want breakfast?” 

“I should probably eat something,” Ryan says, pouring the carafe. “I’m more tired than anything.” When Ryan looks over, Shane’s grinning into his mug. Ryan smiles to himself and mixes in his creamer. 

“I was thinking, though,” Ryan says, sipping slowly, standing across from Shane and leaning against the kitchen sink. “How do—are you going to have a pack?”

With soft eyes and the gentlest smile, Shane tilts his head at Ryan. Something about the gesture, the warm features of Shane’s face makes Ryan flush, sipping from his coffee mug like he can hide behind it. 

“Was that a stupid question?” Ryan asks. 

“No. C’mere,” Shane says, and Ryan steps closer as Shane sets his mug down on the countertop. Ryan sets his own right next to it. Shane winds an arm around Ryan’s waist, settling his other hand so gently on Ryan’s cheek. “My pack is you, Ryan. Thought that was kinda obvious.” 

Ryan feels a jolt in his heart, warmth bleeding through his chest and Ryan steps up on the tips of his toes to meet Shane for a kiss. Ryan presses a hand against the back of Shane’s neck to hold him close as Shane backs him up, crowds him against the kitchen sink. 

Their coffee is forgotten when Ryan lifts himself to sit on the edge of the counter, pulling Shane close between the wide spread of his knees. 

-:-

Even with coffee, Ryan feels barely human. He walks into the office, greeting the team as he reaches his desk. He passes by Steven on his way to the hall closet, who makes a disgusted noise. Steven runs his hand through his lavender tinged hair.

“You stink,” Steven says in a very soft voice. Ryan laughs. 

“I _showered_ this morning.” 

Steven hums. “It's not that kind of stink.” 

Ryan's neck grows hot and he turns away from Steven to grab a box of pens.

“I don’t like that—I don’t like how you can just _tell_ ,” Ryan mutters, turning to face him. Steven’s got his hands in his pockets, his necklace glimmering in the soft light against the light pink of his tee.

“You may as well be Shane with how much you smell like him,” Steven shrugs a shoulder. “You're being careful, though, right?” Steven asks. “I know it's Shane, but he’s brand new and he can be dangerous.” 

“He's fine.” Ryan waves a hand. “He's like a giant puppy. I can handle it, Stevie.” Ryan walks past him, but that doesn’t seem to appease Steven. Steven follows Ryan to his desk, looking thoroughly unconvinced, squinting his eyes at Ryan.

“He’s a _wolf_ —“ 

“None of us were scared of _you_ ,” Ryan reasons. “You've been a wolf this _whole time_ and somehow you managed just fine. Shane is okay. He's tired and crabby, so I told him to stay home.” 

“I just—these relationships are different than just—“

“ _Steven_. It's fine—I can _handle ‘_ different’. I'm dealing with it. Just let it go.” It’s not lost on Ryan that _he’s_ the one telling someone else to let things go.

“Okay. Okay, I'm sorry,” Steven says, hands up. 

Ryan deflates, slumping in his desk chair. “It's fine. This whole thing is a lot. It's only been a month for him. We need more time to adjust.” Ryan gives Steven’s arm a gentle nudge with his fist. Steven nods. 

“I just don't want anything to get out of hand.” 

“It's not. Shane has you to help him with all the—you know—wolf stuff. And I got everything else.” 

Steven smiles. “He’s got the both of us. That’s how this works.” 

“Exactly right.” Ryan gives Steven an easy smile back. 

-:-

It’s a few full moons later. 

When Ryan gets home—to Shane’s—he brings takeout. A lot of it, because if there’s one thing Ryan’s learned, it’s that Shane’s metabolism has changed so drastically it’s almost scary, and Shane is always starving after he shifts.

Shane hasn't answered any of his texts yet and Ryan worries, but benefit of the doubt and all, especially after the calming conversations he’s had with Steven over the last handful of months. Everything is okay, he knows that. 

So, Ryan sits and waits. 

And waits. And eventually falls asleep on the couch with the TV playing in the background.

Until the clock turns over at five in the morning, and Shane slinks through the front door of his apartment, waking Ryan.

When Ryan fixes his glasses on his face, his blood runs cold at the sight of him. 

“Don't ask,” Shane whispers, shoulders hunched like he’s ashamed.

Ryan wants to, though. He wants to know why his boyfriend is covered in so much _blood_. Ryan gets up from the couch and walks over to him, hand gentle on Shane’s cheek. Shane leans into his touch, bringing Ryan in close despite the mess he’s become. 

“It's not a person, is it?” Ryan whispers. 

“No,” Shane says. 

And Ryan can live with that. He’s bone-tired, exhausted, but he leads Shane to the bathroom and helps Shane out of his clothes, stepping out of his own. Shane's hands shake when Ryan takes them and his eyes are bright gold, intense. Scared, maybe. Ryan's never known Shane to be scared. 

“What do you need?” Ryan asks, threading their fingers together. 

“I don’t know.” Shane takes a deep breath. “I just couldn't stop myself.”

“What can I do?” 

Shane's arms come around his body, holding tight. Ryan resists the urge to kiss him until they get inside the shower. 

“Let me clean you up, okay? Then we can go to bed. And I’ll let you do whatever you want to me, hmm?” He looks up at Shane with a soft smile, inviting, coaxing. 

“Is that what you want?” Shane asks, pulling back, regarding him with curious eyes. 

Ryan smiles up at Shane. “Listen, dude, I've wanted you to wreck me for years. Yes, this is what I want.” 

Shane laughs. “Alright.” 

There are good moons and bad moons, but for as long as Shane will let him, Ryan wants to share them all.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading. i'm [here](https://uneventfulhouses.tumblr.com/). hearts.


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